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THE CAROLINIAN 








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THE CAROLINIAN 


BY 
RAFAEL SABATINI 


Author of “ Scaramouche,” “ Captain Blood: His Odyssey,” 
“ The Sea-Hawk,” etc. 





BOSTON AND NEW YORK 


HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
The Riverside Press Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT, 1924 AND 1925, BY RAFAEL SABATINI 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


SECOND IMPRESSION, FEBRUARY. 1925 


PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. 


DAS lean US - 


24 ¥ 4A 





: 


9\ Mau 


Le 


ATA, 


TO 
J. E. HAROLD TERRY 


My bear Haro_p, 

Some few years ago you and I, labouring 
jointly, delved into the romantic soil of Carolinian history 
for certain elements from which to construct a play of the 
American War of Independence. Out of these same ele- 
ments I have now fashioned this book, and in dedicating it 
to you I do so not merely as a pledge of the warm esteem in 
which I hold you, but as an acknowledgment that is due. 

Believe me, my dear Harold, 
Your friend 


RAFAEL SABATINI 
London, November, 1924 





CONTENTS 
PART I 


. Two LETTERS 
II. 
Til. 
IV. 
. THE REBEL 

VI. 
VIL. 
VITI. 


. TAR AND FEATHERS 


CHENEY 
THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 


FAIRGROVE 


THE DECEPTION 
MANDEVILLE AS MACHIAVEL 


Deviw’s ADVOCATE 


. THE Mairt-Bac 
XI. 
XII. 
XITI. 
XIV. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 


STALEMATE 

REVELATION 

DEA EX MACHINA 

THE SOLUTION 

THE NUPTIALS 

THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 
GROCKAT’S WHARF 


THE PiIsToL-SHOT 


II 
21 
39 
54 
65 
75 
84 
98 
107 
iD 
124 
139 
148 
157 
166 
184 
104 


Vill 


CONTENTS 


PART II 


. MARRIAGE 
Il. 
III. 
LV. 
. JONATHAN NEILD 

VI. 
VIL. 
VITL. 


. THe Liz CONFIRMED 


Fort SULLIVAN 
SEVERANCE 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 


PREVOST’S ADVANCE 
RUTLEDGE’S NERVES 


THE SPY 


. CONCERNING TOBACCO 

4 VIA CRUCIS 

. THE TEST 

. THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 
. THE ARREST 

. THE AWAKENING 

. THE INQUIRY 

. JUDGMENT 


. RECONCILIATION 


217 
228 
237 
240 
253 
267 
275 
285 
296 
306 
322 
331 
347 
365 
372 
379 
397 
412 


THE CAROLINIAN 
PAR D 





THE CAROLINIAN 


PART I 


CHAPTER I 
TWO LETTERS 


ITH compressed lips and an upright line of pain be- 

tween his brows Mr. Harry Latimer sat down to write 
a letter. He had taken — as he was presently to express it — 
his first wound in the cause of Liberty, which cause he had 
lately embraced. This wound, deep, grievous, and apparently 
irreparable, had been dealt him by the communication in the 
sheets which hung now from his limp fingers. 

It had reached him here at Savannah, where he was en- 
gaged at the time, not only on behalf of the Carolinian Sons 
of Liberty — of which seditious body he was an active if 
secret member — but on behalf of the entire colonial party, in 
stirring the Georgians out of their apathy and into coépera- 
tion with their Northern brethren to resist the harsh measures 
of King George’s Government. 

This letter, addressed to him at his Charles Town residence, 
had been forwarded thence by his factor, who was among the 
few whom in those days he kept informed of his rather furtive 
movements. It was written by the daughter of his sometime 
guardian Sir Andrew Carey, the lady whom it had been Mr. 
Latimer’s most fervent hope presently to marry. Of that 
hope the letter made a definite end, and from its folds Mr. 
Latimer had withdrawn the pledge of his betrothal, the ring 
which once had belonged to his mother. 

Myrtle Carey, those lines informed him, had become aware 


4 THE CAROLINIAN 


of the treasonable activities which were responsible for her 
lover’s long absences from Charles Town. She was shocked 
and grieved beyond expression by any words at her command 
to discover this sudden and terrible change in his opinions. 
More deeply still was she shocked to learn that it was not only 
in heart and mind that he was guilty of disloyalty, but that he 
had already gone so far as to engage in acts of open rebellion. 
And at full length, with many plaints and upbraidings, she 
displayed her knowledge of one of these acts. She had learnt 
that the raid upon the royal armoury at Charles Town, in 
April last, had been undertaken at his instigation and under 
his personal direction, and this at a time when, in common 
with all save his fellow-traitors, she believed him to be in 
Boston engaged in the transaction of personal affairs. She 
deplored — and this cut him, perhaps, more keenly than all 
the rest — the deceit which he had employed; but it no longer 
had power to surprise her, since deceit and dissimulation were 
to be looked for as natural in one so lost to all sense of duty to 
his King. The letter concluded with the pained assertion that, 
whatever might have been her feelings for him in the past, 
and whatever tenderness for him might sti]l linger in ‘her 
heart, she could never bring herself to marry a man guilty of 
the abominable disloyalty and rebellion by which Harry 
Latimer had disgraced himself forever. She would pray God 
that he might yet be restored to sane and honourable views, 
and that thus he might avoid the terrible fate which the 
Royal Government could not fail sooner or later to visit upon 
him should he continue in his present perverse and wicked 
course. 

Three times Mr. Latimer had read that letter, and long had 
he pondered it between readings. And if each time his pain 
increased, his surprise lessened. After all, it was no more than 
he should have expected, just as he had expected and been 
prepared for furious recriminations from his sometime guard- 
ian when knowledge of his defection should reach Sir Andrew. 


TWO LETTERS 5 


For than Sir Andrew Carey there was no more intolerant or 
bigoted tory in all America. Loyalty with him amounted toa 
religion, and just as religious feeling becomes intensified in the 
devout under persecution or opposition, so had the loyalty of 
Sir Andrew Carey burnt with a fiercer, whiter flame than ever 
from the moment that he perceived the signs of smouldering 
rebellion about him. 

To Harry Latimer, when his generous, impulsive young 
heart had first been touched four months ago in Massachu- 
setts by the oppression under which he found the province 
labouring, this uncompromising monarcholatry of Sir An- 
drew’s had been the one consideration to give him pause, 
before ranging himself under the banner of freedom. He had 
been reared from boyhood by the baronet, and he owed him a 
deep debt of love and other things. That his secession from 
toryism would deeply wound Sir Andrew, that sooner or later 
it must lead to a breach between himself and the man who 
had been almost as a father to him, was the reflection ever 
present in his mind to embitter the zest with which he em- 
braced the task thrust upon him by conscience and his sense 
of right. 

What he does not appear to have realized, until that letter 
came to make it clear, was that to Myrtle, reared in an atmo- 
sphere of passionate, unquestioning devotion to the King, 
loyalty had become as much a religion, a sacrosanctity, as it 
was to the father who preached it. 

At the first reading the letter had made him bitterly angry. 
He resented her presumption in criticizing in such terms a 
conduct in him that was obviously a matter of passionate 
conviction. Upon reflection, however, he took a more tolerant 
view. Compromise in such a matter was as impossible to her 
as it was to him. He would do much to win her. There was, 
he thought, no sacrifice from which he would have shrunk; for 
no sacrifice could have been so great as that which he was now 
called upon to make in relinquishing her. But the duty he had 


6 THE CAROLINIAN 


taken up, and the cause he had vowed to serve, were not 
things that could be set in the balance against purely personal 
considerations. The man who would yield up his conscience 
to win her would by the very act render himself unworthy of 
her. Lovelace had given the world a phrase that should stand 
for all time to serve such cases as his own: ‘I could not love 
thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more.’ 

There was no choice. 

He took up the quill, and wrote quickly; too quickly per- 
haps; for a little of the abiding bitterness crept despite him 
into his words: 


You are intolerant, and therefore it follows that your actions 
are cruel and unjust. For cruelty and injustice are the only fruits 
ever yielded by intolerance. You will never again be able to do 
anything more cruel and unjust than you have now done, for never 
again will you find a heart as fond as mine and therefore as sus- 
ceptible to pain at your hands. This pain I accept as the first 
wound taken in the service of the cause which I have embraced. 
Accept it I must, since I cannot be false to my conscience, my 
duty, and my sense of right, even to be true to you. 


Thus he double-bolted the door which she herself had 
slammed. A door which was to stand as an impenetrable 
barrier between two loving, aching, obstinate, conscience- 
ridden hearts. 

He folded, tied, and sealed the letter, then rang for John- 
son, his valet, the tall, active young negro who shared his 
wanderings, and bade him see it despatched. 

Awhile thereafter he sat there, lost in thought, that line of 
pain deeply furrowed between his brows. Then he stirred and 
sighed and took up from the writing-table another letter that 
had reached him that same morning, a letter whose seals were 
still unbroken. The superscription was in the familiar hand 
of his friend Tom Izard, whose sister was married to Lord 
William Campbell, the Royal Governor of the Province of 
South Carolina. The letter would contain news of society 


TWO LETTERS 3 


doings in Charles Town. But Charles Town society at the 
moment was without interest for Harry Latimer. He dropped 
the letter, still unopened, pushed back his chair and wearily 
rose. He paced away to the window and stood there looking 
out upon the sunshine with vacant eyes. 

He was at the time in his twenty-fifth year and still pre- 
served in his tall, well-knit figure something of a stripling 
grace. He was dressed with quiet, patrician elegance, and he 
wore his own hair, which was thick, lustrous, and auburn in 
colour. His face was of that clear, healthy pallor so often 
found with just such hair. It was an engaging face, lean, and 
very square in the chin, with a thin, rather tip-tilted nose and 
a firm yet humorous mouth. His eyes were full without 
prominence, of a brilliant blue that in certain lights was 
almost green. Habitually they were invested with a slightly 
quizzical regard; but this had now given place to the dull 
vacancy that accompanies acute mental suffering. 

Standing there he pondered his case yet again, until at last 
there was a quickening of his glance. He stretched himself, 
with a suggestion of relief in the action. The thing is evil, 
indeed, out of which no good may come, which is utterly 
without compensation. And the compensation here was that, 
at least, there was an end to secrecy. The thing was out. Sir 
Andrew knew; and however hardly Sir Andrew might have 
taken it, at least the menace of discovery was at an end. 
This, Mr. Latimer reflected, was something gained. There 
was an end to his tormenting consciousness of practising by 
secrecy a passive deceit upon Sir Andrew. 

And from the consideration of that secrecy his mind leapt 
suddenly to ask how came the thing discovered. That they 
should know vaguely and generally of his defection was not 
perhaps so startling. But how came they informed in such 
detail of the exact part he had played in that raid upon the 
arsenal last April? His very presence in Charles Town had 
been known to none except the members of the General 


8 THE CAROLINIAN 


Committee of the Provincial Congress. Then he reflected 
that those members were very numerous, and that a secret is 
rarely kept when shared by many. Some one here had been 
grievously indiscreet. So indiscreet, indeed, that if the Royal 
Governor knew that Harry Latimer was the author of the raid 
— araid which fell nothing short of robbery and sedition, and 
amounted almost to an act of war — there was a rope round 
his neck and round the neck of every one of his twenty asso- 
ciates in that rebellious enterprise. 

Here was something to engage his thoughts. 

If his activities were known in Sir Andrew’s household, it 
followed almost certainly that they would be known also in 
the Governor’s. He was sufficiently acquainted with Sir 
Andrew to be sure that, in spite of everything that lay be- 
tween Sir Andrew and himself, the baronet would be the first 
to bear the information to Lord William. 

And then he realized that this was no mere indiscretion. 
Indiscretion might have betrayed some general circumstance, 
but it could never have betrayed all these details of which 
Myrtle was possessed; above all, it could never have betrayed 
so vital and dangerous a secret. He was assailed by the con- 
viction that active, deliberate treachery was at work, and he 
perceived that he must communicate at once with his friends 
in Charles Town, to put them on their guard. He would write 
to Moultrie, his friend and one of the stanchest patriots in 
South Carolina. 

Upon that thought he returned to the writing-table, and 
sat down. There Tom Izard’s letter once more confronted 
him. Possibly Tom’s gossip might yield some clue. He broke 
the seals, unfolded and spread the sheets, to find in them far 
more than he had expected. 


My DEAR Harry [wrote the garrulous man of fashion] — 
Wherever you may be, and whatever the activities that are now 
engaging you, I advise you to suspend them, and to return and pay 
attention to your own concerns, which are urgently requiring your 


TWO LETTERS 9 


presence. Though on your return you should call me out for daring 
even to hint at the possibility of disloyalty in Myrtle, I cannot 
leave you in ignorance of what is happening at Fairgrove. You 
know, I think, that soon after the fight at Lexington last April, 
Captain Mandeville was sent down here by General Gage from 
Boston against the need to stiffen the Lieutenant-Governor into a 
proper performance of his duty by the King. Captain Mandeville 
has remained here ever since, and in these past two months has 
acquired such a grasp of provincial affairs in the South Carolina, 
that he continues as the guide and mentor of my brother-in-law 
Lord William, who arrived from England a fortnight since. Man- 
deville, who has now been appointed equerry to his lordship, 
is become the power behind the throne, the real ruler of South 
Carolina, in so far, of course, as South Carolina is still ruled by the 
Royal Government. In all this there may be nothing that is new 
to you. But it will be new I am sure that a kinship, real or pre- 
tended, exists between this fellow and your old guardian Sir 
Andrew Carey. That stiff-necked old tory has taken this pillar of 
royal authority to his broad bosom. The gallant captain is con- 
stantly at Fairgrove, whenever his duties do not keep him in 
Charles Town. Let me add on the score of Mandeville, who is 
undeniably a man of parts and finds great favour with the ladies, 
the following information obtained from a sure source. He is a 
notorious fortune-hunter, reduced in circumstances, and it is well 
known in England that he accepted service in the colonies with the 
avowed intention of making a rich marriage. His assets are not 
only a fine figure and the most agreeable manners, but the fact that 
he is next heir to his uncle, the Earl of Chalfont, from whom I 
understand that he is at present estranged. I do not myself 
imagine that a man of his aims and talents would be so very dili- 
gent at Fairgrove unless in Carey’s household he saw a reasonable 
prospect of finding what he seeks. You will be very angry with me, 
I know. But I should not be your friend did I not risk your anger, 
and I would sooner risk that now than your reproaches later for 
not having given you timely warning. 


There followed a post-scriptum: 
If your engagements are such that it is impossible for you to 


10 THE CAROLINIAN 


return and attend to your own concerns, shall I pick a quarrel 
with the Captain, and have him out? I would have done so out of 
love for you before this, but that my brother-in-law would never 
forgive me and Sally would be furious. Poor Lord William would 
be helpless without his equerry, and he finds things devilish diffi- 
cult as it is. Besides, I understand that, as commonly happens 
with such rascals, this Mandeville is a dead shot and plaguy 
nimble with a small-sword. 


At another time the post-scriptum might have drawn a 
smile from Latimer. Now his face remained grave and his lips 
tight. A definite conclusion leapt at him from those pages. It 
was not a question of Sir Andrew’s having informed the 
Governor of Harry Latimer’s seditious practices. What had 
happened was the reverse of that. The information had been 
conveyed to Sir Andrew by this fellow Mandeville, of whom 
he had heard once or twice before of late. If Mandeville’s 
intentions were at all as Tom Izard represented them, it 
would clearly be in the Captain’s interest to effect an es- 
trangement between Latimer and the Careys. And this was 
what had taken place. 

But how had Mandeville obtained the information? One 
only answer was possible. By means of a spy placed in the 
very bosom of the councils of the colonial party. 

Upon that Mr. Latimer took an instant decision. He would 
not write. He would go in person. He would set out at once 
for Charles Town, to discover this enemy agent who was 
placing in jeopardy the cause of freedom and the lives of 
those who served it. 

His work in Georgia was of very secondary importance By 
comparison with that. 


CHAPTER II 
CHENEY 


ILLIAM MOULTRIE, of Northampton on the 

Cooper River — who had just been appointed Colonel 
of the Second Provincial Regiment of South Carolina, under a 
certificate issued by a Provincial Congress which was not yet 
sufficiently sure of itself to grant commissions — was aroused 
from slumber in the early hours of a June morning by a 
half-dressed negro servant, who proffered him a folded slip 
of paper. 

The Colonel reared a great nightcapped head from his 
pillow, and displayed a broad, rugged face the bone structures 
of which were massive and well-defined. From under beetling 
brows two small eyes, normally of a kindly expression, peered 
out, to screw themselves up again when smitten by the light 
of the candle which the negro carried. 

“Wha...wha... what’s o’clock?’ quoth the Colonel, con- 
eit : 

‘Close on five o’clock, massa.’ 

‘Fi... five o’clock!’ Moultrie awakened on that, and sat 
up. ‘What the devil, Tom... ?’ 

Tom brought the slip of paper more definitely to his 
master’s notice. Puzzled, the Colonel took it, unfolded it, 
dusted his eyes with his knuckles, and read. Then he flung 
back the bedclothes, thrust out a hairy leg, his foot groping 
for the floor, and commanded Tom to give him a bedgown, 
draw the curtains, and bring up this visitor. 

And so a few minutes later, Harry Latimer was ushered 
into the presence of the Colonel, who stood in the pale light of 
early day, in bedgown, slippers, and nightcap, to receive him. 

“Odsbud, Harry! What’s this? What’s brought you back?’ 

They shook hands firmly, like old friends, whilst the gimlet 


12 THE CAROLINIAN 


eyes of Moultrie observed the young man’s dusty boots and 
travel-stained riding-clothes as well as the haggard lines in his 
face. 

‘When you’ve heard, you may say I’ve come back to be 
hanged. But it’s a slight risk at present, and it had to be 
taken.’ 

‘What’s that?’ The Colonel’s voice was very sharp. 

Latimer delivered the burden of his news. ‘The Governor 
is informed of the part I played in the raid last April.’ 

‘Oons!’ said Moultrie, startled. ‘How d’ye know?’ 

‘Read these letters. They'll make it plain. They reached 
me three days ago at Savannah.’ 

The Colonel took the papers Latimer proffered, and crossed 
to the window to peruse them. He was a stockily built man 
of middle height, twenty years older than his visitor, whom he 
had known from infancy. For Moultrie had been one of the 
closest friends of Latimer’s father and his brother-in-arms in 
Grant’s campaign against the Cherokees in which the elder 
Latimer had prematurely lost his life. And there you have 
the reason why Harry sought him now in the first instance, 
rather than Charles Pinckney, the President of the Provincial 
Congress, which the Royal Government did not recognize, or 
Henry Laurens, the President of the Committee of Safety, 
which the Royal Government recognized still less. The offices 
held by these two should have designated one or the other of 
them as the first recipient of this weighty confidence. But to 
either, Latimer had taken it upon himself to prefer the man 
who was in such close personal relations with himself. 

Whilst still reading, Moultrie swore softly once or twice. 
When he had done, he came slowly back, his brow rumpled in 
thought. Silently he handed back the papers to the waiting 
Latimer, who had meanwhile taken a chair near the table in 
mid-apartment. Then, still in silence, the Colonel took up one 
from a bundle of pipes on that same table, and slowly filled it 
with leaf from a pewter box. 


CHENEY 13 


‘Faith,’ he grumbled at last, ‘you don’t lack evidence for 
your assumption. Nobody outside of the committee so much 
as suspected that you were here in April. God knows the 
place is crawling with spies. There was a fellow named Kirk- 
land, serving in the militia, whom we suspect of acting as 
Lord William’s agent with the back-country tories. We 
durstn’t touch him until he was so imprudent as to desert, 
and come down to Charles Town with another rogue named 
Cheney. But before ever we can lay hands on him, Lord 
William puts him safely aboard a man-o’-war out there in the 
roads. Cheney was less lucky. We’ve got him. Though, 
gadslife, I don’t know what we’re to do with him, for un- 
fortunately he isn’t a deserter. But that he’s a spy only a fool 
could doubt.’ 

‘Yes, yes.’ Latimer was impatient. *But that kind of spy 
is of small account compared with this one.’ And he tapped 
the papers vehemently. 

Moultrie looked at him, pausing in the act of applying to 
his pipe the flame of the candle which the servant had left 
burning. Latimer answered the inquiry of the glance. 

‘This man is inside our councils. He is one of us. And un- 
less we find him and deal with him, God alone knows what 
havoc he may work. As it is, there are some twenty of us 
whose lives are in jeopardy. For you can’t suppose that, if he 
has betrayed me to the Governor, he hasn’t at the same time 
betrayed the others who were with me, whether they actually 
bore a hand or merely shared the responsibility.’ 

Moultrie lighted his pipe, and pulled at it thoughtfully. 
He did not permit himself to share the excitement that was 
setting his visitor aquiver. He came and placed a hand 
affectionately on Harry’s shoulder. 

‘I’m not vastly exercised by any threat to your life, lad — 
at least, not at present. Neither the Governor, nor his pilot 
Captain Mandeville, wants another Lexington here in South 
Carolina. And that’s what would happen if they tried any 


14 THE CAROLINIAN 


hangings. But as far as the rest goes, you’re right. We’ve to 
find this fellow. He’s among the ninety members of the 
General Committee. Faith, the job’ll be singularly like look- 
ing for a needle in a bottle of hay.’ He paused, shaking his 
head; then asked a question: ‘I suppose ye’ve not thought of 
how to go about discovering him?’ 

‘I’ve thought of nothing else all the way from Savannah 
here. But I haven’t found the answer.’ 

‘We shall have to seek help,’ said Moultrie; ‘and, after all, 
it’s your duty to Pinckney and Laurens, an one or two 
others, to let them know of this.’ 

‘The fewer we tell, the better.’ 

‘Of course. Of course. A half-dozen at most, and those 
men that are well above suspicion.’ 

Later on in the course of that day six gentlemen of promi- 
nence in the colonial party repaired to Colonel Moultrie’s 
house on Broad Street in response to his urgent summons. In 
addition to Laurens and Pinckney, there was Christopher 
Gadsden, long and lean and tough in the blue uniform of the 
newly established First Provincial Regiment, to the command 
of which he had just been appointed. A veteran firebrand, 
President of the South Carolina Sons of Liberty, he was 
among the very few who at this early date were prepared to go 
the length of demanding American Independence. With him 
came the elegant, accomplished William Henry Drayton, of 
Drayton Hall, who like Latimer was a recent convert to the 
party of Liberty, and who brought to it all the enthusiasm 
and intolerance commonly found in converts. His position as 
President of the Secret Committee entitled him to be present. 
The others making up this extemporaneous committee were 
the two delegates to the Continental Congress, the Irish 
lawyer John Rutledge, a man of thirty-five who had been 
prominent in the Stamp-Act Congress ten years ago, and 
famous ever since, and his younger brother Edward. 

Assembled about the table in Moultrie’s library these six, 


CHENEY ‘Is 


with Moultrie himself presiding, listened attentively to the 
reasons advanced by Mr. Latimer in support of his assertion 
that they. were being betrayed by some one within their 
ranks. 

‘Some twenty of us,’ he concluded, ‘lie already at the 
mercy of the Royal Government. Lord William is in posses- 
sion of evidence upon which to hang us if the occasion serves 
him. That, in itself, is grave enough. But there may be worse 
to follow unless we take our measures to discover and remove, 
by whatever means you may consider fit, this traitor from our 
midst.’ | | 

There followed upon that a deal of talk that was little to the 
point. They discussed this thing; they pressed Latimer for 
details which he would have preferred to withhold as to the 
exact channel through which this information had reached 
him; and they were very vehement and angry in their vitu- 
peration of the unknown traitor, very full of threats of what 
should be done to him when found. Several talked at once, 
and in the general alarm and excitement the meeting de- 
generated for a while into a babel. 

Drayton took the opportunity wrathfully to renew a de- 
mand, which had already once been rejected by the General 
Committee, that the Governor should be taken into custody. 
Moultrie answered him that the measure was not practical, 
and Gadsden, supporting Drayton, furiously demanded to 
know why the devil it should not be. Then, at last, John 
Rutledge, who hitherto had sat as silent and inscrutable as a 
granite sphinx, coldly interposed. 

_ “Practical or not, this is not the place to debate it, nor is it 
the matter under consideration.’ Almost contemptuously he 
added: ‘Shall we keep to the point?’ 

It was his manner rather than his words that momentarily 
quieted their vapourings. His cold detachment and his obvi- 
ous command of himself gave him command of others. And 
there was, too, something arresting and prepossessing in his 


16 THE CAROLINIAN 


appearance. He was in his way a handsome man, with good 
features that were softly rounded, and wide-set, slow-moving, 
observant eyes. There was the least suggestion of portliness 
about his figure, or, rather than actual portliness, the promise 
of it to come with advancing years. His dress was of a scru- 
pulous and quiet elegance, and if the grey wig he wore was 
clubbed to an almost excessive extent, yet it was redeemed 
from all suspicion of foppishness by the formal severity of its 
set. 

There was a moment’s utter silence after he had spoken. 
Then Drayton, feeling that the rebuke had been particularly 
aimed at himself, gave Rutledge sneer for sneer. 

‘By all means, let us keep to the point. After long con- 
sideration you may reach the conclusion that it’s easier to 
discover the treason than the traitor. And that will be pro- 
fitable. As profitable as was the arrest of Cheney by a com- 
mittee too timid to commit anything.’ 

That sent them off again, on another by-path. 

‘Yes, by God!’ burst from the leathery lungs of Gadsden, 
who had been preaching sedition to the working-people of 
Charles Town for the last ten years, ever since the Stamp-Act 
troubles. ‘There’s the whole truth of the matter. That’s 
why we make no progress. The committee’s just a useless and 
impotent debating society, and it’ll go on debating until the 
redcoats are at our throats. We daren’t even hang a rascal 
like Cheney. Oons! If the wretch had known us better, he 
might have spared himself his terrors.’ 

‘His terrors?’ The question came sharply from Latimer, so 
sharply that it stilled the general murmurs as they began to 
arise again. At the mention of Cheney’s name, he remem- 
bered what Moultrie had said about the fellow. An idea, 
vague as yet, was stirring in his mind. ‘Do you say that this 
man Cheney is afraid of what may happen to him?’ 

Gadsden loosed a splutter of contemptuous laughter. 
‘Afraid? Scared to death, very near. Because he doesn’t 


CHENEY ‘ 


realize that the only thing we can do is talk, he already smells 
the tar, and feels the feathers tickling him.’ 

Rutledge addressed himself scrupulously to the chair. 
‘May I venture to inquire, sir, how this is relevant?’ 

Leaning forward now, a certain excitement in his face, 
Latimer impatiently brushed him aside. 

‘By your leave, Mr. Rutledge. It may be more relevant 
than you think.’ He addressed himself to Moultrie. ‘Tell me 
this, pray. What does the committee propose to do with 
Cheney?’ 

Moultrie referred the question to the genial elderly Lau- 
rens, who was President of the committee concerned. 

Laurens shrugged helplessly. ‘We have decided to let 
him go. There is no charge upon which we can prosecute 
him.’ 

Gadsden snorted his fierce contempt. ‘No charge! And the 
man a notorious spy!’ 

‘A moment, Colonel,’ Latimer restrained him, and turned 
again to Laurens. ‘Does Cheney know — does he suspect 
your intentions?’ 

‘Not yet.’ 

Latimer sank back in his chair again, brooding. ‘And he’s 
afraid, you say?’ 

‘Terrified,’ Laurens assured him. ‘I believe he would 
betray anybody or anything to save his dirty skin.’ 

That brought Latimer suddenly to his feet in some excite- 
ment. ‘It is what I desired to know. Sir, if your committee 
will give me this man — let me have my way with him — it is 
possible that through him I may be able to discover what we 
require.’ 

They looked at him in wonder and some doubt. That 
doubt Laurens presently expressed. ‘But if he doesn’t know?’ 
he asked. ‘And why should you suppose that he does?’ 

‘Sir, I said through him, not from him. Let me have my 
way in this. Give me twenty-four hours. Give me until 


18 THE CAROLINIAN 


to-morrow evening at latest, and it is possible that I may have 
a fuller tale to tell you.’ 

There was a long pause of indecision. Then, very coldly, 
almost contemptuously in its lack of expression, came a ques- 
tion from Rutledge: 

‘And if you fail?’ 

Latimer looked at him, and the lines of his mouth grew 
humorous. 

‘Then you may try your hand, sir.’ 

And Gadsden uttered a laugh that must have annoyed any 
man but Rutledge. 

Of course, that was not yet the end of the matter. Latimer 
was pressed with questions touching his intentions. But he © 
fenced them off. He demanded their trust and confidence. 
And in the end they gave it, Laurens taking it upon himself, 
in view of the urgency of the case, to act for the committee 
over which he presided. 

The immediate sequel was that, some two or three hours 
later, Mr. Harry Latimer was ushered into the cell in the 
town gaol where Cheney languished. But it was a. Mr. 
Latimer very unlike his usual modish, elegant self. He went 
dressed in shabby brown coatee and breeches, with coarse 
woollen stockings and rough shoes, and his abundant hair 
hung loose about his neck. 

‘I am sent by the Committee of Safety,’ he announced to 
the miserable wretch who cowered on a stool in a corner and 
glared at him with frightened eyes. On that he paused. Then, 
seeing that Cheney made no shift to speak, he continued: 
“You can hardly be such a fool as not to know what is coming 
to you. You know what you’ve done, and you know what 
usually happens to your kind when they’re caught.’ 

He saw the rascally pear-shaped face before him turn a 
sickly grey. The man moistened his lips, then cried out in a 
quavering voice: 

‘They can prove naught against me. Naught!’ 


CHENEY 19 


‘Where there is certain knowledge proof doesn’t matter.’ 

‘It matters! It does matter!’ Cheney rose. He snarled like 
a frightened animal. ‘They durstn’t hurt me without cause; 
good cause; legal cause. And they knows it. What have they 
against me? What’s the charge? I’ve been twice before the 
committee. But there never were no charge; no charge they 
durst bring in a court.’ 

‘I know,’ said Latimer quietly. ‘And that’s why I’ve been 
sent: to tell you that to-morrow morning the committee will 
set you at liberty.’ _ 

The coarse mouth about which a thick stubble of beard had 
sprouted during the spy’s detention fell open in amazement. 
Breathing heavily, he leaned on the coarse deal table for sup- 
port, staring at his visitor. Hoarsely at last came his voice. 

“They ...they’ll set me at liberty!’ And then his currish 
demeanor changed. Now that he saw deliverance assured, a 
certain truculence invested him. He laughed, slobbering like 
a drunkard. ‘I knowed it! I knowed they durstn’t hurt me. 
If they did they’d be hurt theirselves. They’d have to answer 
to the Governor for’t. Ye can’t hurt a man without bringing 
a charge and proving it.’ 

‘That,’ Mr. Latimer agreed suavely, ‘is what the com- 
mittee realizes, and that is why it is letting you go. But don’t 
assume too much. Don’t be so rash as to suppose that you’re 
to get off scot free.’ 

‘What ...what!’ Out went the truculence. Back came 
the terror. 

‘T’'ll tell you. When you are released to-morrow morning, 
you'll find me waiting for you outside the gaol, and with me 
there'll be at least a hundred lads of the town, all of them 
Sons of Liberty who’ll have had word of the committee’s 
intention and don’t mean to let you go back to your dirty 
spying. What the committee dare not do, they’ll never boggle 
over. For the Governor can’t prosecute a mob. You guess 
what'll happen?’ 


20 THE CAROLINIAN 


The grey face with its shifty eyes and open mouth was fixed 
in speechless terror. 

‘Tar and feathers,’ said Mr. Latimer, to remove the last 
doubt in that palsied mind. 

‘God!’ shrieked the creature. His knees were loosened and 
he sank down again upon his stool. ‘God!’ 

‘On the other hand,’ Mr. Latimer resumed quite placidly, 
‘it may happen that there will be no mob; that I shall be 
alone to see you safely out of Charles Town. But that will 
depend upon yourself; upon your willingness to undo as far as 
you are able some of the mischief you have done.’ 

‘What d’ye mean? In God’s name, what d’ye mean? 
Don’t torture a poor devil.’ 

‘You don’t know who I am,’ said Mr. Latimer. ‘I'll tell 
you. My name is Dick Williams, and I was sergeant to Kirk- 
land...’ 

‘That you never was!’ Cheney cried out. 

Mr. Latimer smiled upon him with quiet significance. ‘It 
is necessary that you should believe it, if you are to avoid the 
tar and feathers. I beg you then to persuade yourself that my 
name is Dick Williams, and that I was sergeant to Kirkland. 
And you and I are going together to pay the Governor a visit 
to-morrow morning. There you will do as I shall tell you. 
If you don’t, you’ll find my lads waiting for you when you 
leave his lordship’s.’ He entered into further details, to which 
the other listened like a creature fascinated. ‘It is now for 
you to say what you will do,’ said Mr. Latimer amiably in 
conclusion. ‘I do not wish to coerce you, or even to over- 
persuade you. I have offered you the alternatives. I leave 
you a free choice.’ 


CHAPTER III 
THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 


R. SELWYN INNES, who was Lord William Camp- 
bell’s secretary during his lordship’s tenure of the 
office of Governor of the Province of South Carolina, con- 
ducted, with a lady in Oxfordshire, a correspondence which on 
his part was as full and detailed as it was indiscreet. The 
letters, which have fortunately survived, give so intimate a 
relation of the day-to-day development of certain transac- 
tions under his immediate notice that they would be worthy 
to rank as mémoires pour servir were it not that history must 
confine itself more or less to the broad outlines of movements 
and events, and can be concerned only with the main actors in 
its human drama. 
In one of these garrulous letters there occurs the phrase: 


Weare sitting on a volcano which at any moment may belch fire 
and brimstone, and my lord taking no thought for anything but 
the mode of dressing his hair, the set of his coat, ogling the ladies at 
the Saint Cecilia concerts, and attending every race-meeting that 
is held. 


From that and abundant other similar indications through- 
out the secretary’s letters, we gather that his opinion of the 
amiable, rather ingenuous, entirely unfortunate young noble- 
man whom he had the honour to serve was not very exalted. 
A secretary, after all, is a sort of valet, an intellectual valet; 
and to their valets, we know, few men can succeed in being 
heroes. But with the broader outlook which distance lends us, 
we now perceive that Mr. Innes did his lordship less than 
justice. After all, no man may bear a burden beyond his 
strength, and the burden imposed upon the young colonial 
Governor in that time of crisis by a headstrong, blundering 


22 THE CAROLINIAN 


Government at home was one that he could not even lift. 
Therefore, like a wise man — in spite of Mr. Innes — he con- 
templated it with rueful humour, and temporized as best he 
could, whilst waiting for events that should either lessen that 
burden or increase his own capacity. 

There is also the fact that whilst, like a dutiful servant of 
the Crown, he was quite ready where possible ‘to afford an 
obedience that should be unquestioning, it was beyond nature 
that this obedience should be enthusiastic. He had examined 
for himself the lamentable question that was agitating the 
Empire; and the fact that he was married to a colonial lady 
may have served to counteract the bias of his official position, 
leading him to adopt in secret the view of the majority — not 
merely in the colonies, but also at home — that disaster must 
attend the policy of the Ministry, driven by a wilful, despotic 
monarch who understood the cultivation of turnips better 
than the husbandry of an empire. He cannot have avoided 
the reflection that the Government he served was determined 
to reap the crop that Grenville had sown with the Stamp 
Act, determined to pursue the obstinate policy which — the 
phrase is Pitt’s, I think — must trail the ermine of the British 
King in the blood of British subjects. Lord William perceived 
— indeed, it required no very acute perception — how oppres- 
sion was provoking resistance, and how resistance was ac- 
cepted as provocation for further oppression. ‘Therefore, he 
remained as far as possible supine, thankful, perhaps, in his 
secret heart that he was without the means to execute the 
harsh orders reaching him from home, and obstinately hoping 
that conciliatory measures might yet be adopted to restore 
harmony between the parent country and the children over- 
seas whom she had irritated into insubordination. Towards 
this he may have thought that he could best contribute by 
bearing himself with careless affability, as an appreciative 
guest of the colony he was sent to govern. He showed himself 
freely with his colonial wife at race-meetings, balls, and other 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 23 


diversions, as Mr. Innes records, and he affected an amiable 
blindness to anything that bore the semblance of sedition. 

In the end, as we can trace, Mr. Innes came to perceive 
something of this, and I suspect that he began to make the 
discovery on a certain Tuesday morning in June of that 
fateful year 1775, when Captain Mandeville, his excellen- 
cy’s equerry, waited upon Lord William at the early hour 
of eight. 

Captain Mandeville, who was, himself, lodged in the 
Governor’s residence in Meeting Street, came unannounced 
into the pleasant, spacious room above-stairs that was Lord 
William’s study. The equerry found his excellency, in a 
quilted bedgown of mulberry satin, reclining on a long chair, 
whilst his aproned valet, Dumergue, was performing with 
comb and tongs and pomade his morning duties upon the 
luxuriant chestnut hair that adorned the young Governor’s 
handsome head. In mid-apartment, at a writing-table that 
was a superb specimen of the French art of cabinet-making, 
with nobly arching legs and choicely carved ormolu encrusta- 
tions, Mr. Innes was at work. 

Lord William looked up languidly to greet his equerry. 
His lordship had been dancing at his father-in-law’s — old 
Ralph Izard — until a late hour last night, so that the air of 
fatigue he wore was natural enough. 

‘Ah, Mandeville! Good-morning. Ye’re devilish early 
astir.’ 

‘Not without occasion.’ The Captain’s manner was grim, 
almost curt. It was obviously as an afterthought that he 
bowed and added, a shade less curtly: ‘Good-morning.’ 

Lord William observed him with quickened interest. He 
knew no man who commanded himself more completely than 
Robert Mandeville, who more fully conformed with that first 
canon of good-breeding which demanded that a gentleman 
should, at all times, in all places and circumstances, control 
his person and subdue his feelings. Yet here was Mandeville, 


24 THE CAROLINIAN 


this paragon of deportment, not only excited, but actually 
permitting himself to betray the fact. And it was not only 
his voice that betrayed it. There was a touch of heightened 
colour in the Captain’s clear-cut, clear-skinned, rather arro- 
gant countenance, whilst in his clubbed blond hair there was 
more than a vestige of last night’s powder to advertise the 
fact that the Captain, usually so irreproachable in these mat- 
ters, had made a hurried toilet. 

‘Why ... What is it?’ quoth his lordship. 

Captain Mandeville looked at Innes, disregarding the sec- 
retary’s nod of greeting; then at the valet, busy with his lord- 
ship’s hair. 

‘It will keep until Dumergue has finished.’ His tone was 
now more normal. He sauntered across to the broad window 
standing open to a balcony wide and deep and pillared like a 
loggia. It overlooked the luxuriant garden and the broad 
creek at the end of it, whose waters sparkling in the morning 
sunshine showed here and there through the great magnolias 
that spread a canopy above them. 

His lordship’s glance followed the officer’s tall, graceful 
figure in its coat of vivid scarlet with golden shoulder-knots 
and the sword thrust through the pocket, in compliance 
rather with the latest decree of fashion than with military 
regulations. His curiosity was aroused, and with it the un- 
easiness that invariably pervaded him where colonial matters 
were concerned. 

‘Innes,’ he said, ‘let Captain Mandeville read Lord Hills- 
borough’s letter while he waits.’ And he added the informa- 
tion that it had just arrived by the war sloop Cherokee and 
had been brought ashore an hour ago by her captain. 

Dumergue interrupted him at that point by thrusting a 
mirror into his lordship’s hand, whilst holding up a second one 
behind his lordship’s head. 

‘Voyez, milor’,’ he invited. ‘Les boucles un peu plus serrés 
qu’a lVordinaire.. .’ 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 25 


He waited, eyebrows raised, head on one side, his glance 
intensely anxious. 

In the hand-glass his lordship calmly surveyed the back of 
his head, as reflected from the second mirror. He nodded. 

‘Yes. I like that better. Very good, Dumergue.’ 

Audibly Dumergue resumed his suspended breathing. He 
set down his mirror and became busy with a broad ribbon of 
black silk. 

Lord William lowered his own glass to meet the eyes of 
Captain Mandeville observing him across the document 
which the equerry had now read. 

‘Well, Mandeville? What do you think of it?’ 

‘T think it is very opportune.’ 

‘Opportune! Good God, Innes! He thinks it’s opportune!’ 

Mr. Innes, a sleek young gentleman, smiled, and ventured 
even a slight shrug. ‘That was to be looked for in Captain 
Mandeville.’ His voice was gentle, almost timid. ‘He is a 
consistent advocate of ... of ... strong measures.’ 

His lordship sniffed. 

‘Strong measures are for the strong, and to do as Lord 
Hillsborough commands us...’ 

He broke off. Captain Mandeville was holding up the hand 
that held the letter. 

‘When your excellency’s toilet is finished.’ 

‘Oh, very well,’ his lordship agreed. “Make haste, Du- 
mene 

Scandalized by the command, Dumergue began a protest. 

‘Oh, milor’! Une chevelure pareille...une coiffure si 
belle . 

‘Make haste!’ His lordship was unusually Rete TOa 

Dumergue sighed, and cut short his ministrations. With a 
final touch he perfected the set of the ribbon in which the 
queue was confined; then he gathered towel, scissors, comb, 
curling-tongs, and pomade into a capacious basin, made his 
bow, and retired with wounded dignity. 


26 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Now, Mandeville.’ 

His lordship sat up, swinging his legs round. They were 
shapely legs in pearl-grey silk. He considered them com- 
placently. They were among the few things whose contem- 
plation afforded his lordship unalloyed satisfaction. 

But Captain Mandeville required his lordship to pay atten- 
tion to very different matters. 

‘Lord Hillsborough is quite definite in his instructions.’ 

‘It’s so devilish easy for a politician to be definite in Lon- 
don,’ grumbled his lordship. 

Captain Mandeville paid no heed to the comment. He 
lowered his eyes to the sheet he held, and read: 


The Government is resolved to make an end, a speedy end, of 
the ungrateful and unfeeling insubordination of the American 
Colonies, which is occasioning so much pain to His Majesty’s 
Ministers. 


‘Oh, damn their pain!’ said their South Carolina repre- 
sentative. 
The equerry read on: 


The excessive leniency hitherto observed must now be definitely 
abandoned, and coercion must at once be employed to subdue 
these mutinous spirits. 

Therefore, I desire your excellency to act without delay, seizing 
all arms and munitions belonging to the province, raising provin- 
cial troops if possible and making ready to receive the British 
regulars that will be embarked with the least possible delay. 


His lordship laughed. ‘Not without humour, Mandeville 
— of the unconscious kind, that so often has a tragic flavour. 
I am to raise provincial troops. Gadsmylife! As if the pro- 
vincial troops were not raising themselves, whilst I look on, 
acquiescing in the damned comedy; pretending not to know 
the purpose for which they are being raised; regarding them 
as the ordinary militia which they scarcely trouble to pretend 
to be. They swarm in the streets until the place looks like a 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 27 


garrison town. They parade and march and drill under my 
very nose. Indeed, I marvel that I am not asked to sign their 
officers’ commissions. If I were, I suppose I should have to 
do it. And Lord Hillsborough, snugly at home in England, 
writes ordering me to raise provincial troops! My God!’ 

He rose at the end of his bitterly humorous tirade, a tall, 
handsome, almost boyish figure. ‘And you, Mandeville, 
think this letter opportune!’ 

‘It is opportune with the business that brings me,’ said the 
equerry. ‘You are forgetting the back country. Charles 
Town itself may be a hotbed of rebellion. But’ up there, 
beyond the Broad River, they are loyal and tory. And they’ll 
fight.’ 

‘But who wants to fight?’ Lord William was almost im- 
patient. ‘I am sent out from home with orders to play a con- 
ciliatory part — which is the only part I have the means to 
play, the only part that I believe it is sane to play. Other 
orders follow. Iam to coerce; lam to arm. I am to prepare to 
receive British troops. The latter I can do. But the rest...’ 

‘That, too, if you have the will,’ said Mandeville. 

“How can I have the will? Who could have the will whilst 
there is the faintest chance of conciliation. And why should 
there not be?’ 

‘Because these people have determined otherwise. Lexing- 
ton showed us that clearly enough. Up there in Massachu- 
Sette.’ 

‘Yes, yes. But this isn’t Massachusetts. The enactments 
which have weighed heavily on the Northern Provinces 
haven’t touched the people in South Carolina.’ 

‘They have touched their sympathies,’ Captain Mande- 
ville reminded him. ‘And there are enough dangerous spirits 
here to keep those sympathies at fever-point.’ 

‘And more who are urged by self-interest to remain quiet. 
It’s not for us to stir them up.’ 

‘Yet their Provincial Congress and its very active com 


28 THE CAROLINIAN 


mittees exist, the Society of the Carolinian Sons of Liberty 
exists. And between them, these illegal bodies rule the 
province. They rule you.’ 

‘Rule me?’ Lord William stiffened. ‘I don’t recognize 
their existence,’ he declared. 

‘That is not to abolish them. They exist in spite of you. 
They come to you with their seditious demands wrapped in 
constitutional language, and force their measures down your 
throat, making a mock of your authority.’ 

‘But they are as unwilling to come to blows as I am; and 
since they have the force, and I have not, it says much for 
their fundamental loyalty that they are as anxious for con- 
ciliation as] am. I believe that in my heart — nay, I know 
it. Haven’t I close relatives among those you would call 
rebels?’ 

‘What does your lordship call them?’ 

Lord William looked at him, and flushed. He was annoyed, 
and yet he curbed the expression of it. He recognized that 
Mandeville, who had already spent two months in Charles 
Town, was infinitely better acquainted with Carolinian affairs 
than himself, who had arrived there only a fortnight ago. 
And he was completely dependent upon Mandeville in his. 
struggle with the constitutional Commons House of Assembly 
unconstitutionally transforming itself into a Provincial Con- 
gress and operating through equally unlawful subordinate 
committees. Therefore, he suffered in the equerry certain 
liberties which in another would never have been tolerated. 

‘What else, indeed, can you call them?’ Mandeville insisted 
after a moment, on another tone. Then his manner became 
more brisk. ‘But ve something else for your excellency’s 
attention this morning. Cheney is here.’ 

The Governor looked up in sharp surprise. ‘Cheney!’ 

‘He has been set at liberty.’ 

The young face lighted suddenly. ‘There! You see! That’s 
a proof of their disposition.’ 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 29 


‘But no explanation is offered of his arrest. Much less re- 
gret, as he will tell you if you'll see him.’ 

‘Of course, I’ll see him.’ 

‘He has a friend with him, another back-country settler, an 
intelligent-looking fellow who was sergeant to Kirkland.’ 

‘Bring them in. Both of them.’ 

Mandeville handed Lord Hillsborough’s letter back to 
Innes, and left the room. The Governor paced across to the 
window, and stood there looking out, pensive, his chin in his 
hand. 

The news of Cheney’s release brought relief to Lord 
William, who had seen his authority in peril of being openly 
defied. It was perhaps as a result of this that his reception 
of the man was more than ordinarily cordial, when presently 
Captain Mandeville ushered him in, together with his com- 
panion, Dick Williams. 

‘He was sergeant to Kirkland,’ Mandeville repeated as he 
presented the latter. 

‘And before that?’ his lordship inquired, simply out of the 
interest inspired in him by this young man, so personable and 
attractive despite his shabbiness. 

“A tobacco planter in a small way,’ said Williams. ‘I have 
some land, held by the King’s bounty, between the Saluda and 
the Broad. Haven’t I, Cheney?’ 

‘Aye. That’s a fact,’ said Cheney, who wore a hangdog 
look. 

His lordship thought that he understood the fellow’s 
loyalty. 

‘And therefore you are properly grateful, sir? That is very 
well. I would all were as dutiful in the back-country settle- 
ments. But what of you, Cheney? What grounds did the 
committee give for your arrest?’ 

‘Just that I came down with Kirkland, as did Dick here. 
Lucky for him, though, he weren’t seen in Kirkland’s com- 


pany.’ 


30 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘But they couldn’t hurt you for being with Kirkland.’ 

‘They might ha’ done, if I hadn’t denied it. I swore their 
spy was mistook when he said I came as a life-guard to Kirk- 
land. I said Kirkland and me had met on the Indian trail 
beyond the town; that we did happen to come in together, 
but that I knew naught of him being a deserter from the 
provincial army. I held to that tale, though they tried 
plaguy hard to shake me out of it. And when they found they 
couldn’t, why, they just let me go. But I ain’t safe in Charles 
Town, my lord.’ 

‘Why not, since they’ve let you go... ?’ 

‘Aye, aye, but they may find out something about me yet, 
and if they take me up again...’ He broke off, distress on 
his dull face. 

‘What, then?’ 

Williams answered for him. ‘They may tar-and-feather 
him,’ he said casually. 

His lordship made a sharp gesture of abhorrence. 

“Why? Because he’s a King’s man? That’s a bugbear. Why 
don’t they tar-and-feather me?’ 

There was a half-smile on the lean face of the false Dick 
Williams. 

‘Your lordship is a great man, protected by your station. 
We are small fry, whom no one would miss. We play this 
game with our lives on the board, and if we’re put to death’ 
— he shrugged and laughed — ‘no more notice will be taken 
of it.’ 

‘Nay, there you are wrong. I should see them punished.’ 

‘That would vindicate your authority, but hardly profit 
us.’ 

‘They daren’t do it. They daren’t!’ Lord William was 
emphatic. 

‘They'll do it to Kirkland, if they get him. And they want 
him, eh, Cheney? ’ 

‘Aye, it’s a fact,’ said Cheney. ‘The committee made no 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 31 


secret of it. They’ll put Kirkland to death if they lay hands 
on him, and any other spy.’ 

‘So they hold that against him, do they — that he’s a spy?’ 

‘Aye, and if they’d had grounds enough to hold it against 
me, I shouldn’t be standing here now. If your lordship don’t 
protect me, I’ll go in fear of my life.’ 

Lord William turned to his silent, observant equerry. 
‘What’s to be done, Mandeville?’ 

‘Send them both to join Kirkland,’ said Mandeville shortly. 

‘Aye, aye; but where’s Kirkland going?’ quoth Williams 
boldly. | 

‘There’s nothing yet decided,’ Lord William answered him. 
‘Meanwhile he’s safe aboard the Tamar.’ 

From Kirkland’s pretended sergeant came a frank, pleasant 
laugh that held a note of recklessness. 

“Your lordship may send Cheney there if he’s a mind to go. 
But I don’t strike my colours yet. I’ve come to serve the 
King, and myself, too, at the same time. There’s a fellow 
named Harry Fitzroy Latimer with whom I’ve an old account 
to settle.’ 

At the mention of that name Captain Mandeville very 
obviously awoke to keener interest in Dick Williams. His 
eyes — dark eyes that seemed invested with a singular pene- 
tration from being set in so fair a face — levelled a very 
searching glance upon him. 

‘Latimer!’ he cried sharply, and added after a breathless 
pause: ‘What is there between you and Latimer?’ 

Williams hesitated, as if the sharp tone had intimidated 
him. ‘Does your honour know him?’ 

‘I asked you a question,’ said the Captain stiffly. 

Williams smiled, with a touch of deprecation. ‘My answer 
might offend you, Captain. Maybe he’s a friend of yours.’ 

‘A friend of mine!’ It was the Captain’s turn to laugh, and 
his laugh was not pleasant. ‘D’ye think I have friends among 
the rebels?’ 


32 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Oh, but this one.’ Williams turned to his lordship. ‘Mr. 
Latimer is one of the richest planters in the Province, in all 
the thirteen colonies maybe, and he has a mort of friends 
among the tories. Why, there’s Sir Andrew Carey, of Fair- 
grove Barony, as red-hot a tory as any man in America, and 
Latimer is to marry his daughter.’ 

Mandeville looked at him contemptuously. The fellow was 
not so well-informed after all. 

‘That may have been the case. It is so no longer. Sir 
Andrew is my friend, my kinsman; and I have it from himself 
that this scoundrel Latimer shall never darken his doorway 
again. I'll add that I do not know him, that I have never seen 
him, though his deeds are well enough known to me as they 
are to Lord William.’ 

‘Aye,’ grumbled his excellency. ‘The fellow’s a nasty thorn 
in our flesh. If the province were rid of him and that firebrand 
Gadsden, there’d be more hope of a settlement.’ 

‘So speak your mind freely about him,’ the equerry invited. 
‘What is there between you?’ 

‘Just a matter of some fifty acres the grasping scoun- 
drel has filched from my bounty lands, by artful shifting of 
boundaries.’ 

Williams’s voice: quivered with scorn. ‘There’s a noble 
gentleman for you. A man as rich as Dives, and not above 
thieving land from a Lazarus like myself. But that’s the spirit 
of these rebels. They’re all alike. Where there’s no loyalty 
to the King, there’s no fear of God, nor virtue of any kind.’ 

‘But there’s a law to which you can appeal,’ Lord William 
reminded him, shocked by this revelation of turpitude. 

‘A law!’ Dick Williams laughed outright. ‘The law’s dis- 
pensed by such men as Mr. Latimer in South Carolina. The 
province is ruled by these wealthy planters. And they’ll never 
legislate against one another.’ 

‘We shall alter all that, Williams, when these troubles are 
settled.’ 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 33 


‘That’s my hope, my lord. That’s my faith.’ Enthusiasm 
kindled in the blue eyes, a flush crept into that lean, pale face. 
‘And that’s why I’m ready to spend my life in the King’s 
service. So that in the end we may have justice of such 
nabobs as this Mr. Latimer. He keeps the state of a prince 
out of his plunderings. A kite-hearted scoundrel!’ 

‘You'll have justice, don’t doubt it,’ said Captain Mande- 
ville slowly. ‘The fellow is weaving a rope for his neck. 
Egad! He’s woven it already.’ 

‘Ye don’t say, Captain!’ Williams was suddenly very eager. 

‘Oh, but I do,’ Mandeville answered him, and anaes his 
lips together on that subject. 

Williams showed a desire to pursueit. Atleast he Hestated 
now, twirling his shabby hat in hands that were none too clean. 
Then Lord William diverted the channel of their talk, or, 
rather, brought it back from that digression. 

“What have you in mind to do, Williams? Where do you 
propose to go?’ 

‘I? Why back whence I came. Back beyond the Broad. 
So if your lordship has any messages or letters for Fletchall or 
the Cunninghams or the Browns, or any other of the loyal 
folk up yonder, I’m the man to carry them.’ 

‘Letters?’ said Lord William, and he smiled. ‘ Yet if it were 
known you came with Kirkland... No, no. Besides, I have 
no letters for them.’ 

‘If you had you’d find me as safe as the others that have 
carried for your lordship.’ 

‘Forme?’ His lordship looked surprised. ‘Nay, I have sent 
no letters. Who says I have?’ 

‘It’s what I’m supposing, your lordship. For how else 
should you correspond?’ 

‘Certainly not by letters,’ said his lordship, with the air of a 
man who knows his business. 

‘By word of mouth, then. There ’m your man. You'll 
have some message for them?’ 


34 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Why, nothing but to bid them keep the men in good order.’ 

‘But you do not yet sanction them to take up arms?’ 

‘Not yet. Not without they have ammunition in plenty, 
and think they’re strong enough.’ 

The comely young face of Williams lengthened. ‘They’re 
not strong enough, nor have they ammunition in plenty. That 
I know. Besides, Drayton has been up there preaching sedition 
to them, and that has thinned their ranks.’ 

‘Stale news,’ put in Captain Mandeville. 

‘Aye, I suppose it is,’ Williams agreed, and sighed. ‘If they 
could depend upon His Majesty’s Government for arms!’ 

‘Bid them be patient,’ Lord William answered him, ‘and 
should it become necessary — which God send it may not! — 
the arms shall presently be forthcoming.’ 

Again the face lighted eagerly. ‘How, your lordship?’ he 
asked breathlessly. 

The young Governor sauntered over to the writing-table. 
‘tT could not have told you yesterday. But to-day, I have 
a letter here from the Secretary of State.’ He held it up a 
moment. And Williams observed that his face was gloomy, 
his eyes sad. ‘His Majesty is resolved to enforce submission 
from one end of the continent to the other. Tell them that in 
the back country.’ 

‘It will rejoice their hearts, as it rejoices mine, my Lord. 
Does your lordship mean that soldiers will be sent from 
England?’ 

‘That is what I mean — here to Charles Town.’ There was 
no exultation in his voice. ‘Unless the rebels bend their stub- 
born necks, this place will shortly be a seat of war.’ 

‘Now that’s good hearing, on my life!’ The young man 
glowed with satisfaction, until Captain Mandeville and even 
the silent secretary Innes smiled to see so much enthusiasm. 
Lord William alone remained grave. 

‘“'There’s only one piece of news would gladden me more 
than that,’ Williams added after a moment. ‘And that would 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 35 


be really to know, to be sure, that Latimer was as safe to be 
hanged as your honour seemed to promise. If you’ve those 
journeys of his in mind, to Boston and elsewhere, I doubt if 
there’s much in that you can act on. He’s not done as much 
as Drayton’s been doing, and others that you know of. And 
if you can’t proceed against those, what can you do against 
Latimer?’ 

“We’ve something more than that against him,’ said Lord 
William. 

‘Tf it’s anything about which ye’re still lacking evidence, it 
would be a joy for me to get it for your lordship.’ 

‘Nay,’ said his lordship affably. ‘I think the evidence is 
complete. Ye’re a good fellow, Williams. [ll show you some- 
thing that’ll make you certain of the recovery of your land, 
with perhaps a few of Mr. Latimer’s acres added to them by 
way of interest: something that’ll encourage you to continue 
to serve your King as stoutly as you have been serving him.’ 
He turned to his secretary. ‘Innes, give me that April list.’ 

Mandeville moved across to his lordship’s side. ‘Is it... 
quite prudent?’ he asked. 

Lord William frowned. It seemed to him that Captain 
Mandeville was permitting himself a liberty, greater than 
usual. 

‘Prudent? And where is the imprudence? What do I 
betray that may not be published in Charles Town?’ 

Mandeville pursed his lips. ‘Provided that the source of 
the information is not divulged. That is too precious to be 
risked in any way.’ 

‘Your talent, Mandeville, is for pointing out the obvious.’ 

‘That is because the obvious sometimes eludes your lord- 
ship,’ Mandeville answered him with that quiet, smiling 
insolence that he was rather prone to use. 

‘Be damned to you for your good opinion of me. Let it 
quiet your timid heart that the obvious does not escape me 
now.’ He took the document that Innes proffered and un- 


36 THE CAROLINIAN 


folded it. He held it out so that Williams could read it. 
‘What name do you find there at the very top?’ 

Dick Williams was studying the document as if with effort. 

‘I...I do not read easily,’ he said. 

Mandeville’s dark eyes flashed upon him with a sudden 
look of suspicion. ‘Yet your speech, sir,’ he said, ‘is hardly of 
one who does not read.’ 

‘Oh, I read,’ said Williams, no whit perturbed. ‘I read 
printed books. Indeed, I am a great reader of printed books. 
But I have no great experience of handwriting.’ All the while 
his eyes were on that written sheet. ‘And this is a cursedly 
crabbed hand. Whatever rogue writ that should be sent back 
to school to learn his pothooks. Ah, I haveit, at last! Egad, I 
should have guessed it. Why, the name is Harry Latimer.’ 

‘Harry Latimer it is,’ said his lordship, refolding the docu- 
ment, and restoring it to his secretary. ‘It’s at the head of 
the list; and the list is that of the men who were concerned 
in the raid on the King’s armoury here two months ago, in 
Lieutenant-Governor Bull’s time. Latimer was the ring- 
leader. Robbery and high-treason both in one. That will be 
the indictment he will have to answer one of these fine days.’ 

Dick Williams was staring at his lordship, a bewildered look 
in his eyes. 

‘But I thought he was away in Boston then?’ 

‘So did a good many others. But he wasn’t. He was here in 
Charles Town for three days. And that was one of the things 
he did.’ 

Dick Williams looked gravely at his lordship. 

‘The man who wrote that list will testify, of course?’ 

“When the time comes.’ 

“Then why don’t you arrest Latimer?’ 

‘Arrest him?’ 

‘He’s here in Charles Town,’ said Williams, whereupon 
Captain Mandeville interjected with unusual violence the 
question: 


THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA 37 


‘How do you know?’ 

‘We saw him this morning in Broad Street as we were on 
our way here, didn’t we, Cheney?’ 

Cheney woke with a start from the uneasy dejection in 
which he had been standing. 

‘It’s a fact,’ he stolidly attested. 

Mandeville mused aloud as it seemed: ‘So he’s come back, 
has he?’ 

‘He has. This is your chance, since you can bring forward 
your witness.’ 

Lord William laughed, a little bitterly. “My good fellow, 
even if the sheriff’s officers would execute my warrant, which 
I doubt, to bring forward my witness is not yet desirable. 
The matter must wait. But it will lose nothing by waiting. 
Be sure of that.’ 

‘I see,’ said Williams. ‘To disclose the witness would be to 
lose the services of your spy in the enemy’s camp. I under- 
stand.’ He fetched a‘sigh. ‘Ah, well, I’ll be patient, my lord, 
and meanwhile we may pile up the score against our gentle- 
man.’ His manner became brisk. ‘I'll bear your messages to 
the back country. I shall be setting out at once. There’s 
nothing to be gained by stopping in Charles Town. If your 
lordship has any further word...’ | 

‘No. I think not. If you'll bear those I have given you, and 
report to me when you are next here, I shall be obliged. And 
now there’s still to settle about you, Cheney.’ 

‘May it please your lordship,’ said Cheney. 

But the mercurial Dick Williams settled it for him breezily. 

“You come back with me, Cheney. You’ll be safe enough 
beyond the Broad. And it’s as easy to get out of Charles 
Town that way as by way of the wharves. Besides, up there 
with a musket in your hands you'll be more use to your King 
than stowed away aboard a man-o’-war.’ 

‘Faith, I don’t much care where I goes, so long as I doesn’t 
stay in Charles Town.’ 


38 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘You ride with me, my lad.’ 

‘Aye, aye! We'd best be going,’ said Cheney, who seemed 
to have no mind of his own. 

‘Indeed, I think that’s best,’ agreed his lordship. He turned 
to his secretary. ‘Innes, let them have ten guineas apiece.’ 

But Williams recoiled. ‘My lord!’ There was deep injury 
in his tone. 

‘Why, what the devil!’ His lordship stared at him. 

‘lm aspy, my lord. I don’t mince words. I’m a spy, and I 
glory in it. But I don’t take money for it. I do it as a duty 
and for the sake of the entertainment it affords me.’ 

Looking into those humorous, dare-devil blue eyes of his, 
Lord William found no difficulty in believing the preposterous 
statement. 

‘Egad, Mr. Williams,’ said Captain Mandeville, ‘ye’ve an 
odd sense of humour.’ 

‘I have. Haven’t I, Cheney?’ 

‘It’s a fact,’ said Cheney, who was opening a receptive 
palm to the gold Mr. Innes poured into it. 

Thereupon they took their leave, and Lord William wearily 
resumed his place on the couch. ‘An interesting, attractive 
fellow that,’ he said, feeling for his snuff-box. ‘It’s the first 
time I’ve found it possible to talk to a spy without feeling 
nauseated. But then he’s not really a spy. He had very little 
to tell us, after all.’ 

‘He was very interesting on the subject of Harry Latimer,’ 
said Mandeville, who was brooding by the window. 

‘Interesting, perhaps. But hardly useful. If he had been 
before the committee instead of that oaf Cheney, we might 
have had something from him.’ 

‘Perhaps you might have had something out of Cheney if 
you’d questioned him.’ 

His lordship yawned. ‘I forgot,’ he said. ‘And that fellow 
Williams talked so much. No matter. What use is informa- 
tion when you can’t act upon it? And I thank God I can’t. 
That way lies hope.’ He took snuff gloomily. 


CHAP LERAIV 
FAIRGROVE 


N an upper room of his handsome house on the Bay, Mr. 

Harry Latimer was at his toilet with the assistance of 
Johnson. He was exchanging the clothes and the grime 
proper to Dick Williams for garments more suited to his real 
station. But when Johnson respectfully asked his honour 
what he would wear, his honour bade him lay out a riding- 
suit, and meanwhile give him a bedgown. Wrapped in this, 
he sat listless and dejected before his toilet-table, what time 
his valet busied himself with the clothes Mr. Latimer was 
presently to don. 

When all was ready, instead of proceeding to dress, he 
dismissed the valet, and continued sunk in thought. Thus 
Julius, the butler, found him when he came a quarter of an 
hour later with a silver chocolate service which he set down at 
his master’s elbow. Julius, a short, slight, elderly negro, in a 
sky-blue livery, and with a head of crisply curling white hair 
that looked like a wig, poured a cup of the steaming brew, 
and then, in obedience to a curt dismissal, withdrew again. 

Mr. Latimer sat on, alone with his thoughts. He had suc- 
ceeded in his aims that morning beyond anything that you 
may yet suspect. Once he had seen that list which Lord 
William had shown him, there had been no need for any 
further questions. He had learnt all that he sought to know. 
And yet his success, far from bringing him elation, had 
plunged him into a dejection deeper than any he had yet 
experienced. For that list was in a hand that he knew as well 
as he knew his own. It was the hand of a man of his own age, 
a man named Gabriel Featherstone, who was the son of Sir 
Andrew Carey’s factor at Fairgrove. This factor had been in 


40 THE CAROLINIAN 


Sir Andrew’s service for thirty years, and not only himself, 
but also his son, were held by Sir Andrew in warm affection. 
So much had this been the case that at one time when, as a 
boy, Latimer had been given a tutor, Gabriel Featherstone 
had been sent to share his lessons. For two years — until 
Latimer had gone to England to complete his studies — 
Gabriel and he had worked side by side at their schoolbooks, 
and for some time afterwards they had corresponded. It was 
no wonder, then, that he knew the hand so well. 

The discovery that it was Gabriel Featherstone who had 
supplied that list to Lord William, and who was, therefore, 
the traitor in their ranks, had led Latimer straight to certain 
very definite and irresistible conclusions. And he was left won- 
dering now at his own dullness in never having suspected these 
things which were suddenly rendered so appallingly clear. 

From the moment that Gabriel Featherstone joined the 
Carolinian Sons of Liberty and procured his election to the 
General Committee of the Provincial Congress, Latimer 
should have considered the possibility of some such purpose 
as he now perceived. Perhaps his own sudden conversion to 
the cause had made him take the conversion of Featherstone 
_ too much for granted. Yet he should have known that self- 
interest must have restrained a man who, through his own 
father, was largely dependent upon Sir Andrew. He should 
have known that Sir Andrew’s bigotry would have dictated 
the instant dismissal of a man who was the father of a rebel. 
Since this had not happened, it followed that he was a party 
to what had taken place. Possibly — indeed, probably — it 
was at Sir Andrew’s own instigation that Gabriel had been 
sent to act as a spy upon the doings of the Provincial Con- 
gress. 

And now Latimer found himself face to face with the clear 
duty to announce his discovery. The extemporaneous secret 
committee by which he had been empowered to make his 
investigation was to assemble again that evening at six o’clock 


FAIRGROVE AL 


at the house of Henry Laurens to receive his report. Make it, 
he must, at whatever cost. Of that there was no doubt in his 
mind. But the cost was heavy, indeed. 

It was not that he pitied or sympathized with Feather- 
stone. Whatever tenderness he might have had for him was 
eclipsed by the fact that, in spite of the past, Featherstone 
had never hesitated to place a rope round Latimer’s neck. 
The fellow was revealed to him for a venal scoundrel upon 
whom only a fool would waste his pity. But there was Sir 
Andrew. There was the breach already existing between him- 
self and the man who had been his guardian and dearest 
friend, and who was Myrtle’s father. That breach, the hope 
of healing which had been strong until this moment, must 
now be rendered utterly irreparable. For, if he denounced 
Featherstone, there could be no doubt of what must follow. 
Whatever the feelings and hesitations of the others, Gadsden 
would see to it that the man be dealt with by mob-law. And 
if, through Latimer’s denunciation, Featherstone should lose 
his life as a punishment for activities in which Sir Andrew 
himself had engaged him, it would be idle for Harry Latimer 
to hope that his adoptive father would ever forgive him. 
Myrtle would then, indeed, be lost to him irrevocably. 

Yet denounce Featherstone he must. 

There you have the two horns of the terrible dilemma upon 
which as a result of his success Mr. Latimer now found 
himself. And it was a long time before there dawned upon 
him the possibility of a middle course, which, by removing 
Featherstone and thus putting a term to his espionage, might 
yet spare his life. 

A man of quick decisions and of rather sanguine tempera- 
ment, he decided to act at once upon the idea. Indeed, if it 
was to be acted upon at all there was no time to lose. He rose 
at last, and rang for his valet. When the man came, he bade 
him send a messenger to ask Mr. Izard to step round to see 
him, and then return, to assist him to dress. 


42 THE CAROLINIAN 


Now at just about the time that Mr. Latimer was begin- 
ning to make his toilet — which would be somewhere in the 
neighbourhood of noon — Captain Mandeville was setting 
out from Meeting Street with intent to ride to Fairgrove, the 
imposing seat of Sir Andrew Carey on the Back River. 

Seen on his tall black horse, in his scarlet, gold-laced coat, 
white buckskins and lacquered riding-boots, the Captain was 
a figure calculated to gladden the eyes of any maid that might 
happen to peep through one or another of the green jalousies 
veiling the windows under which he passed. 

Charles Town had been planned by Culpeper a hundred 
years ago, at a time and in a place that admitted of generous 
spaces and regular lines such as were not to be found in the 
Old World. Meeting Street in the European eyes of the 
Governor’s equerry was a pleasant avenue, fringed with elms, 
and deriving a sense of width from the garden spaces be- 
tween the houses on either side. Some of these, and mainly 
the more recent ones, of mellowing red brick, clothed in vine 
and honeysuckle, jasmine and glossy cherokee, were half- 
concealed amid the luxuriance of their gardens: others, of 
wood, but very solidly built, mainly of the timber of the black 
cypress, stood sideways to the thoroughfare, presenting to it 
no more than a gabled end, whilst the long fronts with their 
wide deep piazzas faced inwards upon the gardens, which 
were enclosed behind high brick walls. The scent of late- 
flowering bulbs, which early Dutch settlers had procured 
from Holland, mingled with the heavier perfume of jasmine 
and honeysuckle and the pungent fragrance which the sun 
was drawing from the pines. 

The Captain turned off into Broad Street, and rode past the 
Church of Saint Michael with its lofty steeple, so reminiscent 
of the work of Wren and so greatly resembling Saint Martin’s- 
in-the-Fields. He crossed the open space at the Corner pre- 
sided over by the statue of Pitt, which had been enthusi- 
astically erected there five years ago to mark the province’s 


FAIRGROVE 43 


appreciation of the Great Commoner who had championed 
the cause of the colonies in the Stamp-Act troubles. 

And here the bustle of life and traffic was such that the 
Captain found it in the main impossible to proceed at more 
than a walking pace. There were groups of seafaring men of 
all degrees from the ships in the harbour, standing to gape 
upon the sights of the town. Now it was a party of negro 
field servants in brightly coloured cottons, shepherded by a 
swarthy overseer, that claimed their attention; now it was a 
file of three Catawba Indians, feather-crowned and mantled 
in gaudy blankets, each leading a pack-horse laden with the 
merchandise against which they had traded the pelts from 
their distant settlements beyond Camden. More than once 
Captain Mandeville was compelled to draw rein altogether 
to give passage to the lumbering mahogany coach of some 
wealthy planter, the tall phaeton driven by a young colonial 
macaroni, with his liveried negro groom sitting like a statue 
of bronze behind, or the sedan chair slung between its black 
porters bearing a lady of fashion on her shopping excursions. 
For all of the towns in North America this was the one in 
which the luxury and refinements of the Old World were com- 
bined in the highest degree with the wealth and abundance of 
the New. And, as was natural, their sybaritism governed 
their politics. There were, of course, firebrands, republican 
extremists such as Christopher Gadsden and this new convert 
to republicanism Mr. Harry Latimer, and there was an unruly 
mob of mechanics and artisans and the like who with little to 
stake were ready enough for adventure; but in the main the 
wealthy oligarchy of planters and merchants which had so 
long held undisputed sway in South Carolina, whilst sympa- 
thizing with the grievances of the North and the opposers of 
the oppressive royal rule, was restrained from overt action by 
self-interest. The security of person and property which they 
now enjoyed might be lost to them in an upheaval. And the 
same incubus of passivity sat upon the spirit of the avowed 


44 THE CAROLINIAN 


tories. In their ranks, too, there were extremists, like Sir 
Andrew Carey and the Fletchalls, who left everything but a 
fanatical duty to the King out of their calculations. But in 
the main they were as anxious as those on the other side to 
avoid an open rupture. 

Thus it was the destiny of the Carolinians to follow, since 
follow they must, but never to lead, in this conflict with 
authority. News of the skirmish at Lexington last April had 
rudely shaken them. But things had settled down again. 
Congress had met to frame a petition to the King, and the 
hope that all would yet be adjusted and that a reconciliation 
would be effected was held as stoutly as men hold the hopes 
of things they desperately desire. 

Captain Mandeville’s views on colonial matters were pessi- 
mistic, and it also happened that he loved antitheses as well 
as any man with a sense of irony. Therefore, it was with 
mildly amused detachment that he returned the salutes of 
some of these ubiquitous blue-coated officers of the provincial 
militia — a body more or less constitutionally brought to- 
gether against the need for unconstitutional emergencies — 
who doffed their black-cockaded hats to him as he rode by. 
He reflected that, despite their superficial friendliness, they 
regarded his scarlet coat much as a bull might regard it, and 
that notwithstanding their friendly smiles of greeting — for 
many of them were men with whom he gamed and hunted 
and laid wagers on a main of cocks or a horse race — they 
might very possibly be cutting his throat before the week 
was out. 

To Mandeville, it was all in the day’s work. He had come 
out to the colonies in the service of his King, like the ‘poor 
devil of a younger son,’ as he was wont, more affectedly than 
accurately, to describe himself. He was, in reality, the 
younger son of a younger son. He had run through the con- 
siderable fortune he had inherited from his mother — his 
father having married a wealthy heiress—in accordance 


FAIRGROVE 45 


with the best traditions of the younger sons of noble houses, 
and he was now in the position of dependency upon the State 
peculiar to British cadets, with the possible expectations that 
commonly delude them. 

His uncle, the present Earl of Chalfont, had no issue, and 
Captain Mandeville was next in the succession. But as his 
uncle, now in his fifty-fifth year, was of a rudely vigorous con- 
stitution, and the Mandevilles were a long-lived race, the 
Captain was not disposed to build upon expectations which 
might not be realized until his own youth was spent. There- 
fore, in coming out to the colonies to serve his King, Captain 
Mandeville had it also in mind to serve himself in the manner 
not unusual among his kind, the manner of which his own 
father had set him the example, and the manner in which 
Lord William Campbell — also a younger son — had served 
himself when he married Sally Izard and a dowry of fifty 
thousand pounds. The colonies offered a fruitful hunting- 
ground, and colonial heiresses afforded covetable prizes for 
younger sons who knew how to make the best of family 
glamour. Apart from this, however, Captain Mandeville 
came out persuaded that in his own case the hunt need not be 
carried very far afield. Sir Andrew Carey, that wealthy and 
influential South Carolina tory, descended on the distaff side 
from that Mandeville who had been one of the original Lords 
Proprietors, was a remote kinsman of the Captain’s, and so 
passionately proud of his descent from so ancient and dis- 
tinguished a stock as to be disposed to regard the kinship as 
much closer than it actually was. And Sir Andrew had a 
daughter, an only child. What, then, more natural than that 
this widower, with no son of his own to succeed him, should 
perceive in Mandeville the son-in-law of his dreams? 

The only thing omitted from the Captain’s shrewd cal- 
culations was the existence of Mr. Henry Fitzroy Latimer, of 
Santee Broads, and of the Latimer Barony on the Saluda. 
And this omission might entirely have wrecked those same 

' 


46 THE CAROLINIAN 


calculations but for the dispensation of Providence by which 
Latimer was guided into the paths of rebellion. 

The outraged Sir Andrew let it be understood that he saw 
repeated between himself and Latimer the fable of the wood- 
man and the snake, and he swore that he would play out the 
woodman’s part. 

When Captain Mandeville’s eyes, which missed few things, 
observed thereafter the disappearance from Myrtle’s finger of 
a certain brilliant-studded hoop of gold, he accounted the 
battle almost over. Nor did he permit himself to be unduly 
concerned by the pallid listlessness that descended upon 
Myrtle in those spring days. 

If he curbed himself, using a masterly restraint at present 
while her grief endured, yet he envisaged the future confi- 
dently. He knew his world, and he knew humanity. He knew 
that there is no wound of the heart which time cannot heal. 
It was for him to contain himself until he was sure that the 
healing process should be well advanced. The rest should 
follow naturally and easily. 

There was no coxcombry in his persuasion. That he was 
agreeable to Myrtle, she rendered evident. And in the quest 
for sympathy and affection which is natural to those who have 
been hurt as she had been, it was inevitable that her relations 
with her kinsman Mandeville should be strengthened in their 
intimacy. Add to this that he had now the assurance of Sir 
Andrew’s entire favour and support. Sir Andrew had done 
more than hint it to him. There was an end to any thought of 
marriage between his child and the renegade Latimer, this 
ungrateful scoundrel to whom his house was closed, which the 
Captain assumed — and not without justification — to mean 
that the way to his own suit lay open. That suit he now cau- 
tiously pursued, and it was in the pursuit of it that he was 
riding to Fairgrove, bearing a choice item of news which the 
interview that morning with Dick Williams had supplied him. 

He turned up King Street, where the traffic was less brisk, 


FAIRGROVE 47 


and pushed on at a better pace towards the Town Gate. On 
a sandy waste beyond the unfinished fortification works, 
undertaken some twenty years before, but subsequently 
abandoned, he saw a considerable party of militia at drill. It 
was composed largely of young men of the working-classes, 
the least responsible, and therefore the most inflammable 
material in the province. The sight of Mandeville’s red coat 
provoked certain ribaldries, which they shouted after him, 
but more or less in a spirit of good-humour. 

Paying little heed to them, he rode amain along the old 
Indian trail across the pine barrens, a desolate landscape of 
shallow dunes unrelieved by any vegetation other than the 
clumps of pine trees rearing themselves black and fragrant in 
the sunshine. Anon as he drew nearer to the Back River, that 
branch of the Cooper on which Fairgrove had been built by 
the present Carey’s grandfather, the road led across a swamp, 
at the end of which at last the country assumed a more fertile 
aspect. 

It would be something after two o’clock in the afternoon 
when Mandeville brought his now foam-flecked horse to the 
tall, wrought-iron gates of Fairgrove, and the broad avenue 
bordered with live-oaks, nearly a mile long, which clove the 
parklands about the stately home of Andrew Carey. 

_ This house of Fairgrove was a noble four-square mansion of 

Queen Anne design, with very tall, white-sashed windows, 
equipped with white-slatted jalousies. It had been built fifty 
years or so ago, of brick, now mellowed by age and weather, 
brought out as ballast by the ships from England. Emerging 
from the avenue on to a wide semi-circular sweep of gravel, 
you might have conceived yourself confronting an English 
country house of Kent or Surrey. Wide lawns were spread on 
either hand, under the shade of massive cedars, whilst a flight 
of terraces on the northern side broke the harsh slope by 
which the land fell away sharply to the river. 

A negro groom led away the Captain’s horse. Remus, the 


48 THE CAROLINIAN 


negro butler, ushered him into the house, and into the long, 
cool dining-room, where Sir Andrew, who had just come in 
from the plantation, was refreshing himself with a morning 
punch. He was in riding-boots, and his gloves and long silver- 
mounted switch lay on the table where he had flung them a 
moment since. His daughter was ministering to him, but 
mechanically and listlessly. She had that morning received 
Harry’s letter from Savannah, and so different was it from 
what she had hoped and expected that it left her with a feeling 
that life was at an end. 

Sir Andrew, a big, bluff man, looking in his grey riding- 
frock and buckskins like a typical English squire, heaved him- 
self up to greet his visitor. 

‘Robert, my boy, we’re favoured. Remus, a punch for 
Captain Mandeville.’ 

The words were naught. The cordiality of the welcome lay 
in the ringing voice, the beaming countenance, the out- 
stretched hand. 

And Myrtle, slim, tall, and ethereal in a hooped gown of 
lilac, a dark curl coiling on her milk-white neck, gave him, as 
he bowed to kiss her finger-tips, a greeting that was as frank 
and friendly as her listlessness permitted, whereafter she 
sought to busy herself with Remus at the great mahogany 
sideboard in the preparation of the Captain’s punch. 

‘Time hangs on your hands,’ Sir Andrew rallied him, ‘and 
it’s plain the Governor and his Council don’t overwork you.’ 

“They may be doing so before long, Sir Andrew. And, faith, 
the sooner, the better.’ He paused to receive the punch, 
which old Remus proffered on a salver, and gracefully to 
thank Miss Carey for her part in its preparation. 

‘Confusion to all rebels,’ he said lightly as he raised the 
glass to his lips. 

‘Amen to that! Amen!’ boomed solemnly the voice of Sir 
Andrew, whilst Myrtle looked on with a face that was white 
and drawn. 


FAIRGROVE 49 


They sat down, the Captain and his host facing each other 
across the dark, glossy board on which glass and silver seemed 
to float, reflected as in a pool, Myrtle on a window-seat, 
perhaps instinctively placing her back to the light that her 
troubled countenance might escape notice. 

Sir Andrew filled himself a long pipe from a silver box, and 
Remus attended him with a lighted taper. 

‘No use to offer you a pipe, I know,’ the Baronet mumbled, 
the stem between his teeth. And the fastidious Mandeville, 
who loathed the stench of tobacco smoke, smilingly agreed. 

‘You miss a deal, Bob. You do so. And this is fine leaf, of 
that scoundrel Latimer’s own growing.’ His face was momen- 
tarily darkened. He fetched a sigh. ‘The fellow learnt the 
trick of curing it in Virginia. But he kept the secret to him- 
self. A secretive dog in that as in other things. You should 
try a pipe, man. It’s a great soother.’ But the Captain 
merely smiled again, and shook his head. ‘And what’s the 
news in Charles Town? We’re out of the world up here. 
You’d be at old Izard’s ball last night. I’d ha’ been there 
myself, but Myrtle wouldn’t go. Moping over the black in- 
gratitude of a damned scoundrel who isn’t worth a thought.’ 

‘You must bring her to Mrs. Brewton’s ball on Thursday.’ 

‘Aye, to be sure.’ 

‘IT don’t think...’ Myrtle was beginning in hesitation, 
when the Captain gently interrupted her. 

‘Nay, now, my dear Myrtle. It is a duty, no less. The ball 
is being given in the Governor’s honour. It becomes an 
official function. In these sad times Lord William requires the 
support of every loyal man and woman. Indeed, Sir Andrew, 
he desires me to say that he deplores your absence from 
Charles Town just now and that he would be the better for 
your presence.’ 

Sir Andrew swore roundly and emphatically that in that 
case he would return to town at once, however much the 
stench of treason in it might turn his stomach. 


50 THE CAROLINIAN 


It was not, indeed, usual for him to be on his plantation at 
this time of year, and he would certainly not have remained 
there since Lord William’s coming but for the circumstances 
of his last departure from Charles Town, and the oath he had 
then sworn that he would not return until the vile place was 
purged of its rebellious spirit. 

He had fled from it in a rage in the middle of last February, 
on the day following that 17th, appointed by the Provincial 
Congress to be a day ‘of fasting, humiliation, and prayer 
before Almighty God, devoutly to petition Him to inspire 
the King with true wisdom, to defend the people of North 
America in their just title to freedom, and avert the calamities 
of civil war.’ 

To Sir Andrew it seemed impossible that anything more 
blasphemous than this lay within the possibility of human 
utterance. But when he heard tell that every place of 
worship in Charles Town was crowded with wicked fools who 
went to offer up that seditious prayer, when with his own 
eyes he beheld the members of the Provincial Congress going 
in solemn procession to Saint Philip’s, with Lowndes, the 
Speaker of the Commons House, at their head in his purple 
robes and full-bottomed wig, the silver mace borne in state 
before him, Sir Andrew’s indignation forbade him to remain 
in a place upon which he hourly expected some such visitation 
as that which overtook Sodom and Gomorrah. 

He raged in impotent loyalty, and raged the more because 
there was little else that he could do to signify his execration 
of the event. That little, however, he performed. He made 
his protest, and it took the shape of closing his residence in 
Tradd Street, and shaking the rebellious dust of that place of 
treason from his loyal feet. 

On his plantation he had since remained, and there he 
would have continued but for this viceregal summons, which 
he pronounced it his sacred duty unquestioningly to obey. 

‘We'll be there by to-morrow, Bob, dead or alive, to swell 


FAIRGROVE | 5x 


the muster of the King’s friends.’ Dismissing the matter 
upon that, he craved for news. 

He received from Mandeville, whose face was grave to the 
point of sadness, an account of the morning’s interview with 
Cheney and Dick Williams, and the latter’s accusation against 
Latimer of turpitude in his dealings with less powerful 
neighbours. 

Sir Andrew’s brows were scowling. But he thrust out a 
doubting nether lip. ‘That is not like Harry Latimer,’ he 
said slowly. 

And Myrtle rose abruptly from her window-seat. 

‘It isn’t true,’ she said with heat. 

‘I scarcely could believe it, myself,’ Mandeville agreed 
smoothly. ‘Men are not often dishonest without motive, and 
what motive could there be for such petty pilferings on the 
part of the wealthy Mr. Latimer? And yet... He paused a 
moment, a man hesitating between thoughts. ‘And yet, when 
a man practises the dishonesty of being false to his duty to 
his King...’ He left it there. 

‘Aye, aye,’ assented Sir Andrew on a deep growl. 

‘Oh, you are wrong. Wrong!’ his daughter insisted. ‘There 
is all the world between the two deeds. Whatever Harry may 
be, he is not a thief, and no one will make me believe it.’ 

Captain Mandeville deplored to observe that Time had not 
yet begun to do the work which he had been content to leave 
to it. 

‘No one could have made you believe him a traitor,’ her 
father answered her. ‘No one could have made you believe 
him secretive and furtive — a fellow that comes and goes by 
stealth like a thief in the night.’ 

‘Which reminds me,’ said Captain Mandeville, ‘that he is 
in Charles Town at present.’ 

Their startled glances questioned him. 

‘I had it from this same fellow Williams. He told me he 
had seen him this morning.’ 


52 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Then why in God’s name don’t you arrest him?’ 

‘Don’t, father!’ Myrtle laid a restraining hand upon his 
shoulder. 

‘Pshaw, my girl! The fellow’s no longer anything to you.’ 

Captain Mandeville wished he could share the opinion. 
Meanwhile he answered Sir Andrew’s fierce question. 

‘Lord William would have signed the warrant already but 
that. ...’’ He checked. 

‘Well? But that what?’ 

‘I persuaded him not to do so.’ 

“You persuaded him?’ Sir Andrew showed his amazement. 
‘Why?’ 

‘For one thing, it would not be politic. We want to avoid 
strife and any act that may lead to strife. Mr. Latimer is 
something of a hero with the mob; and we do not wish to 
provoke the mob into acts that might call for reprisals.’ 

‘It’s what they need, by God!’ 

‘Maybe. And yet it has its dangers. Lord William saw 
that. Also, Sir Andrew, I had other reasons. This Mr. 
Latimer, after all, in spite of what he has done, has thrust 
certain roots into your heart.’ 

‘I’ve torn them out,’ Sir Andrew protested vehemently. 

‘And then, there is Myrtle,’ the Captain sighed. 

‘How good you are!’ Myrtle rewarded him, her eyes 
shining moistily. 

‘Good!’ growled the Baronet. ‘Good! — to neglect his 
clear duty!’ 

‘I doubt if I should ever do my duty at the cost of hurting 
either of you, however slightly. You have become so very 
dear to me in the months I have been in this exile that I could 
never leave your feelings out of consideration in anything I 
did.’ 

And then, before either of them could find the right words 
in which to answer that pledge of affection, Remus opened the 
door to make the dramatic announcement: 


FAIRGROVE 53 


‘Massa Harry, Sir Andrew.’ 

It had never occurred to the old butler that there could be 
any doubt of admitting Master Harry, and so he had con- 
ducted him straight to the dining-room where Sir Andrew sat. 


CHAPTER 'V 
THE REBEL 


R. HARRY LATIMER, stepping briskly, his three- 

cornered hat and a heavy riding-crop tucked under 
his arm, and drawing off his gloves as he came, advanced 
with a composure which Sir Andrew afterwards described as 
impudent. 

Remus closed the heavy mahogany door, and silence reigned 
thereafter for some moments in that room. 

Sir Andrew, Captain Mandeville, and Miss Carey remained 
at gaze, three petrified figures, the two men seated, the girl, 
her breathing quickened, standing just behind her father’s 
chair, her right hand resting upon the summit of its tall back. 

You conceive, perhaps, the various emotions conflicting in 
the mind of each, and you certainly conceive that for the 
moment these emotions were dominated by sheer amazement. 
Deep as it was in all three, it was deepest in Captain Mande- 
ville. He was not merely amazed. He was bewildered. For 
the tall, slim young gentleman who had entered, and who was 
standing now by the head of the table, was no stranger to 
him. He had seen and talked with him somewhere before, 
and the Captain raked his wits to discover when and where 
that might have been. But only for a moment. Gradually 
the eyes of his mind metamorphosed the figure which the eyes 
of his body were devouring. The well-fitting, modish, long 
riding-coat of bottle-green gave place to a shabby, brown 
coatee; the fine delicate hand that was being withdrawn from 
its glove, became soiled and grimy; the rippling bronze hair 
so neatly queued in its moiré ribbon, hung loose and unkempt 
about that lean, pale face with its keen blue eyes and humorous 
mouth. 


THE REBEL 55 


The Captain’s fist crashed down upon the mahogany, so 
that glass and silver rattled: he half-rose from his chair, 
momentarily moved out of his self-control in a manner foreign 
to him even at times of greatest provocation. 

‘Dick Williams!’ he cried, and added: ‘By God!’ 

Mr. Latimer bowed to him, his smile ironical. 

‘Captain Mandeville, your humble obedient. I can under- 
stand your feelings.’ 

Mandeville made him no answer. His thoughts were rac- 
ing over the ground covered that morning by the interview 
between Dick Williams and the Governor. He sought to re- 
call how much had been disclosed to this audacious spy, who, 
thanks to the assistance of Cheney — whose’unaccountable 
treachery was now also made clear — had so completely 
bubbled them. 

Meanwhile, Sir Andrew, too obsessed by his own feelings 
to give heed to the unintelligible exchange of words between 
Mandeville and this unwelcome visitor, was raging furiously. 

‘My God! Have you the impudence to show your face here, 
now that the mask is off it? Now that we know you for what 
you are?’ 

‘You do not know me, sir, for anything of which I am 
ashamed.’ 

‘Because you’re shameless!’ Sir Andrew choked, im- 
patiently shaking off the trembling hand that Myrtle set on 
his shoulder to restrain him. 

Mr. Latimer looked at him wistfully. ‘Sir Andrew,’ he 
said, very gently, ‘must there be war between us because we 
do not see eye to eye on matters of policy and justice? There 
is no man in all this world whom I love more deeply than 
yourself...’ 

“You may spare me that,’ the Baronet broke in. ‘When I 
find a more ungrateful, treacherous scoundrel than you are, 
I may hate him more. But I don’t believe that such a man 
lives.’ 


56 THE CAROLINIAN 


Latimer’s pallor deepened. Shadows formed themselves 
under his brilliant eyes. 

‘In what am I ungrateful?’ he quietly asked. 

‘Must you be told? Could any father have done more for 
you than I have done? For years, whilst you were a boy, 
whilst you were away in England on your education, I 
husbanded your estates, watched over them to the neglect of 
my own. Your father left you wealthy. But under my care 
your wealth has been trebled, until to-day you are the richest 
man in Carolina, perhaps the richest man in America. And 
you squander the wealth I raised for you in attempting to 
pull down everything that I hold good and sacred, the very 
altars at which I worship.’ 

‘And if I could prove to you that those altars enshrine 
false gods?’ 

‘False gods! You abominable .. .! 

‘Sir Andrew!’ Latimer held out a hand in a gesture of 
appeal. ‘Give me leave, at least, to justify myself.’ 

‘Justify yourself? What justification can there be for what 
you have done, for what you are doing?’ 

He would have added more. But Myrtle came to Latimer’s 
assistance. 

‘Father, it is only just to hear him.’ Her plea sprang from 
a desire, deep down in her heart, to hear him, herself. She 
hoped to find in his words something to mitigate the judgment 
she had passed upon him in a letter which had failed so miser- 
ably of its true aim — to recall him from his rebellious course. 

Mandeville, inwardly alarmed at the memory of all that 
had been said that morning in the Governor’s study, and 
quite undecided as to how to bear himself now, so that he 
might reconcile and serve conflicting interests, sat still and 
watchful, a player who waits until opportunity shall show 
him what line of play to follow. 

‘Sir Andrew,’ Latimer was saying, ‘you who live sheltered 
here in a province upon which the hand of the Royal Govern- 


? 


THE REBEL 57 


ment rests lightly, can have no more conception than I had 
until I went there four months ago of what is happening in 
the North.’ 

But Sir Andrew did not mean to listen to a political 
harangue. 

‘Can I not?’ Contemptuous laughter brought the words 
out ina croak. ‘CanI not? There’s treason happening in the 
North. That’s what’s happening. And that’s what you’ve 
borne a hand in, plotting God knows what devilries against 
your King.’ 

‘That,’ said Mr. Latimer, ‘is hardly true.’ 

‘D’ye think your seditious actions have not been reported 
to us?’ 

‘Reported?’ Latimer almost smiled as his keen eyes 
wandered to Captain Mandeville. He bowed a little to the 
Captain. ‘I become important, it seems. I am honoured, sir, 
to be the subject of your reports.’ 

‘As equerry to his excellency the Governor, certain duties 
devolve upon me,’ Mandeville answered smoothly. ‘Perhaps, 
Mr. Latimer, you are overlooking that.’ 

‘Oh, no.’ There was a gleam of that sedate amusement so 
natural to Latimer, and as irritating now to Captain Mande- 
ville, as it had been to many another who imagined himself to 
be the object of Mr. Latimer’s covert mirth. ‘I gratified this 
morning my curiosity on the score of your activities.’ The 
Captain flushed despite himself. ‘But your reports — or, at 
least, the inferences you have drawn from them — have not 
been quite accurate. Inference, I believe, is not the strength 
of the official mind.’ 

He turned again to Sir Andrew, who was containing him- 
self with difficulty, and who only half-understood what was 
passing between Latimer and the equerry. ‘I have been 
plotting, perhaps. But certainly nothing against the King. 
By which I mean that I am not of those extremists who al- 
ready utter the word ‘‘ Independence.” On the contrary, [am 


58 THE CAROLINIAN 


of those who are labouring to preserve the peace in spite of 
every provocation, to support constitutionalism against all 
the endeavours to cast it aside for coercive violence.’ 

The Baronet restrained himself to sneer. ‘It was out of 
your concern for peace, I suppose, that you planned the raid 
on the armoury last April?’ 

Latimer’s eyes flashed upon Mandeville again. 

‘Your reports have been very full, Captain Mandeville.’ 

This time the Captain gave him back gibe for gibe. 

‘Inference, you see, Mr. Latimer, is not always the weak- 
ness of the official mind.’ 

But Latimer’s counter whipped the weapon from his hand. 

‘That was not inference, Captain. It was information. It 
is one of the things I ascertained this morning; one of the 
things I went to ascertain. For the rest’ — and, without 
giving the Captain time to answer him, he swung again to Sir 
Andrew — ‘we desired to avoid here what was done in Boston: 
British subjects shot down by British troops. Si vis pacem, 
para bellum. It’s sound philosophy. Since England, or rather 
England’s King, acting through a too pliant Ministry, chooses 
to treat this Britain overseas as enemy country, what choice 
is left us? We prepare for war that we may avert it; that we 
may prevail upon a Ministry at home to receive our petitions, 
consider our grievances, and redress our wrongs, instead of 
brutally compelling us by force to submit ourselves to in- 
Justice.’ 

‘My God! You’re mad! That’s it! Mad!’ 

Captain Mandeville interpolated gently: ‘Did not Boston 
bring down upon itself this trouble by its insubordination?’ 

‘Aye! Answer that!’ Sir Andrew challenged. 

‘Insubordination?’ Mr. Latimer shrugged a little. ‘To 
what should Boston have been subordinated? The subjection 
of a free people to the executive authority of government is 
no more than a compliance with the laws they have themselves 
enacted.’ 


THE REBEL 59 


‘You are quoting Dr. Franklin, I suppose,’ said the Captain 
with the least suspicion of a sneer. 

‘{f am quoting from one of the letters of Junius, Captain 
Mandeville, one of the letters addressed to a King and a 
Ministry who are so reckless as to threaten the liberties of 
Englishmen in England as well as in the colonies.’ 

Sir Andrew’s indignation blazed. 

‘Is that a thing to say of His Gracious Majesty?’ 

‘That there should be occasion to say it is deplorable. But 
the occasion itself is not to be denied.’ 

‘Not to be denied!’ Sir Andrew almost barked. ‘I deny it 
for one, as I deny every word of your trumped-up pretexts of 
rebellion! The damnable gospel of these Sons of Liberty. 
Sons of liberty!’ He snorted. ‘Sons of riff-raff!’ 

The tone stung Latimer to a momentary resentment. 

‘It was an Englishman, a member of the House of Com- 
mons, who gave us that name at which you sneer, speaking 
in admiring terms of our stand for liberty.’ 

‘I nothing doubt it. There are rebels in England, just as 
there are loyal men in America.’ 

‘Yes, and, as time goes on, there may be more of the former 
and fewer of the latter. For this, sir, Isay again, is no quarrel 
between England and America. That independency by which 
the North American Colonies may be lost to Britain, desired 
at present by so few of us, may yet come to be the only issue. 
If it should come to pass, it will be the achievement of a 
besotted King, who, although he glories in the name of 
Britain. .).’ 

But he got no further. 

Sir Andrew on his feet, livid with passion, furiously inter- 
rupted him: ‘You infamous traitor! My God! You’d utter 
such words in my house, would you? You heard, Robert. 
You have a duty, surely!’ 

Captain Mandeville, too, had risen, and was obviously ill- 
at-ease. 


60 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Robert!’ It was a cry from Myrtle. In her distress — for 
she well understood her father’s invitation to him — the 
ceremonious term of ‘cousin’ was omitted. Both Mandeville 
and Latimer remarked it, intent though they might be upon 
a graver issue, and both were thrilled, though each after a 
different fashion. 

‘Pray have no fear, dear Myrtle,’ the Captain reassured 
her. And he swung to Latimer, who was watching him. 

‘Here, under Sir Andrew’s roof, I cannot take heed of the 
words you have used.’ 

The tilt of Mr. Latimer’s nose seemed to become more 
marked. 

‘If you imply regret, sir, of that circumstance, I shall be 
happy to repeat my words in any place and time your con- 
venience would prefer.’ 

Again Myrtle distractedly intervened, yet never beginning 
to suspect that she herself, rather than any political con- 
sideration, was disposing these two in such ready hostility. 

‘Harry, are you mad? Robert, please, please! Don’t heed 
what he says.’ 

‘I do not,’ said Mandeville. He bowed a little to Latimer, 
his manner entirely disarming. ‘I do not wish you to mis- 
apprehend me, sir. All I offer is an explanation of conduct in 
one who wears His Majesty’s uniform.’ 

‘It did not occur to me, sir, that you would offer more.’ 

Sir Andrew turned upon him, his face now as purple as a 
mulberry. 

‘Leave my house, sir! At once! I had never thought to see 
you here again, but that you should come to offend my ears 
with your abominable doctrines of rebellion .. .’ 

Latimer interrupted him. ‘That, sir, was not my intent. I 
came solely that I might do you a service.’ | 

‘I desire no service of you! Go! Or I will have you thrown 
out.’ 

Myrtle stood behind Sir Andrew, white and distressed, 


THE REBEL 61 


passionately impelled to intervene, to seek yet to make the 
peace between her father and her lover — for that he was her 
lover still, her heart was telling her — and yet not daring to 
attempt to curb a passion so sweeping as that which now 
controlled the Baronet. 

‘The matter that brought me,’ said Latimer, coolly fronting 
that wrath, ‘concerns the life of Gabriel Featherstone.’ 

His ear caught the sharp intake of breath from Sir Andrew, 
and he saw the sudden movement of Captain Mandeville. 
But not even so much was necessary to announce how deeply 
he had startled them. Their countenances abundantly be- 
trayed it. He paused a moment, looking squarely into the 
Baronet’s glowering eyes. ‘You would do well to bid your 
factor get his son out of Charles Town and out of the province 
before evening.’ 

For the second time there was something akin to an ex- 
plosion from that normally very self-possessed Captain 
Mandeville. 

Mr. Latimer smiled a little. ‘Captain Mandeville, you see, 
realizes the occasion.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Sir Andrew controlled himself to 
demand. But Latimer observed that he was trembling. 

‘I mean that if Gabriel Featherstone is not beyond the 
reach of the Sons of Liberty by evening, he will very certainly 
be hanged, and probably tarred and feathered first.’ 

‘Gabriel Featherstone?’ The Baronet’s cheeks had grown 
actually pale. 

‘I see,’ said Latimer, ‘that you are acquainted with his 
activities, Sir Andrew, with the particular form of service to 
the Royal Government in which he has been employed by 
Captain Mandeville.’ 

“By me, sir?’ Mandeville demanded. 

Latimer’s ironic smile was momentarily turned upon him. 

‘Lord William Campbell,’ he said, ‘is hardly the most 
discreet of men. He is rather too easily drawn. And that 


62 THE CAROLINIAN 


without the lure of personal gain that dulled your own wits, 
Captain. There are times when self-interest becomes a 
bandage to the eyes of caution. That, I think, was your own 
case this morning.’ 

‘You infernal spy!’ said Mandeville, with cold rage. 

Latimer shrugged airily. ‘A thief to catch a thief.’ 

‘Will you tell me what it means?’ demanded Sir Andrew. 
‘What has this to do with Featherstone?’ 

‘Tl tell you, sir!’ cried Mandeville. 

But Latimer stayed him. He dominated now, by the fear 
for Featherstone which he had inspired. 

‘I think it will come better from me, perhaps. Gabriel 
Featherstone is a member of the General Committee of the 
Provincial Congress, and a member also of more than one of 
its sub-committees. He has abused his position to keep the 
King’s Council informed of our secret measures, and he has 
already woven a rope for the necks of several of us. The 
moment isn’t opportune for hanging us. But should it come, 
as the King’s Government confidently believes it will, Feather- 
stone will be brought forward as a witness to swear away our 
lives. I gather that the Royal Council will be content with 
hanging me, the ringleader, as a warning and an example. It’s 
a bugbear that does not greatly alarm me. Anyhow, I am 
prepared to take the risk, sooner than give you occasion, Sir 
Andrew, to mourn a valued servant, the son of one still more 
valued. But you can’t expect the others concerned to be 
equally complacent. To remove the risk, they will remove 
Featherstone. And the manner of it will be as I have said.’ 

Sir Andrew stared at him, his jaw fallen, the anger, which 
seethed abundantly within him, momentarily held in leash 
by dismay. And then at last Mandeville spoke. 

‘It’s false!’ he said. ‘False! A silly trap to catch the name 
of the real denouncer. Featherstone is not the man. It was 
not Featherstone who supplied Lord William with his list.’ 

“In that case it is odd that the list should be in Feather- 


THE REBEL 63 


stone’s handwriting,’ Mr. Latimer mocked him. ‘Youll re- 
member that I saw it, Captain.’ 

Mandeville remembered not only that he had seen it, but 
that he had very closely inspected it. 

‘When did you see it? How did you see it?’ Sir Andrew 
demanded. 

And it was Mandeville who answered him, and who, by his 
answer which related the whole of that morning’s interview 
at the Governor’s, explained to him several obscurities in 
what Latimer had just said. 

‘So that you’re no better than a dirty spy!’ cried Sir 
Andrew in disgust and fury. ‘A dirty spy! You and your 
friend Cheney.’ 

‘A spy, if you will. But the rest I disavow. Cheney’s no 
friend of mine.’ 

‘And you’ve denounced Gabriel to your fellow-rebels?’ Sir 
Andrew asked him. 

Mr. Latimer shook his head. ‘If I had already done that, 
should I be here to warn you to get him removed? The 
moment after I denounce him, he will certainly be appre- 
hended, and then...’ Mr. Latimer shrugged eloquently. ‘I 
trust, Sir Andrew, that you will place this at least to my 
credit: that out of my anxiety to spare you unnecessary pain 
— the pain of one who may feel himself in part responsible 
for the dreadful fate that overtakes another — I have been 
less than faithful to my duty.’ 

Sir Andrew made him no answer. He looked heavily at 
Mandeville, as if for guidance. Mandeville’s face, now a 
mask of complete composure, dissembled the activity of his 
mind. The dismay and anger at the prospect of losing so very 
valuable a spy — for whether Featherstone escaped or were 
hanged, he would be lost to Mandeville as a channel of in- 
formation — was being dissipated by the knowledge that 
Latimer had not yet denounced him. In that case all might 
yet be well. 


64 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘And, of course,’ he said acidly, ‘your regard for Sir Andrew 
will hardly go so far as to cause you to refrain from denouncing 
Featherstone.’ 

Latimer did not conceal his rather scornful amusement. 

‘Such guilelessness, Captain! Oh, the official mind! But I 
make you a present of the knowledge you seek. I shall go 
before the Committee at six o’clock to-day with the informa- 
tion you were good enough to give me this morning.’ 

‘You really think you will?’ said Mandeville, unpleasantly. 

‘I know I will. Which is why I must be taking my leave. 
Meanwhile, Sir Andrew, you are warned, and in good time to 
pass the warning on to Featherstone.’ 

Sir Andrew, standing stiff and scowling, made him no 
answer. 

Mr. Latimer bowed gracefully, and turned to depart. 

But he found that Mandeville had got between him and 
the door. The Captain spoke, his voice cold and level, but full 
of menace. 

‘Sir Andrew, this man must not be allowed to leave.’ 


CHAPTER VI 
THE DECEPTION 


IR ANDREW roused himself at that summons. He 
reached out a hand to arm himself with the riding-whip 
that lay across the board. 

Mr. Latimer midway between the Baronet and the equerry, 
although arrested by the latter’s words and clear purpose, 
did not appear to suffer any distress. 

‘You think to detain me by force?’ he asked, and smiled. 

The Captain found himself admiring the young man’s 
composure. And he was something of an arbiter in matters of 
deportment. He belonged to an age in which artificiality, the 
suppression of emotion, the histrionic affectation of non- 
chalance in all circumstances, was accepted as the outward 
mark of the man of quality. In England, where between 
Westminster and Oxford he had spent some six years, Mr. 
Latimer had readily acquired this art of genteel conduct, 
which, for the rest, sat easily enough upon a spirit that was 
naturally calm, detached, and critical. 

‘You must see, Mr. Latimer, that in the circumstances: 
we cannot possibly suffer you to depart.’ 

‘Not only do I see it. I foresaw it. It was part of the risk I 
took.’ 

‘Lay hold of him, Robert,’ cried Sir Andrew. He sprang 
forward as he spoke, and Captain Mandeville did the like 
from Latimer’s other side. 

To avoid them, Latimer backed swiftly to the sideboard, 
and at the same time lugged from the pocket of his bottle- 
green riding-coat a heavy, ugly-looking pistol. 

‘Not so fast, gentlemen!’ he begged them, displaying that 
intimidating weapon. 


66 THE CAROLINIAN 


It brought them up sharply in their advance, and Myrtle 
cried out at the same moment. 

‘You didn’t understand me, I think,’ said Latimer. ‘I told 
you that I foresaw something of this kind. Premonitus, 
premunitus.’ And he wagged the pistol. ‘It is the motto of 
my house. As Sir Andrew can tell you, I come of a singularly 
prudent family, Captain Mandeville. And now that you 
realize you are at a disadvantage, perhaps you will permit me 
to depart without doing violence to the proprieties.’ 

‘My God, you graceless blackguard!’ Sir Andrew railed at 
him. ‘D’ye dare threaten me? D’ye dare draw a pistol on 
me? On me?’ 

‘Nay, Sir Andrew. It is you who threaten. I do no more 
than protect myself. Self-preservation is the first law of 
nature.’ 

Thus his cursed irony, which he could not repress, dug 
wider than ever the breach between himself and the man he 
loved, the man who because his erstwhile affection for Harry 
was now turned to gall, would, he knew, show him no mercy. 

Sir Andrew measured him with eyes of unspeakable hate, 
the hate born of anger that is baffled and mocked. 

‘Let the dog go, Robert,’ he growled. 

Mandeville had no intention of doing anything of the kind. 
He would risk being shot rather than lose the services of 
Featherstone. But because he preferred — self-preservation 
being the first law of nature with him, too — that Latimer 
should first empty his pistol into somebody else, he made a 
pretence of acquiescence. 

He bowed a little, shrugged, and stepped aside. 

‘You win the trick, Mr. Latimer,’ he said lightly. ‘But it 
is only the first in the game.’ 

‘Observe, though, that I’ve trumped the knave,’ Mr. 
Latimer smiled back at him. He pocketed his pistol again, 
but took the precaution of keeping his hand on the butt. Asif 
perceiving this, and if as ostentatiously to show him that his 


THE DECEPTION 67 


way to the door was clear, Captain Mandeville turned aside 
and crossed the room to the mantelpiece at the other end. 

Latimer paused a moment looking at Sir Andrew, and his 
eyes clouded with regret. He appeared on the point of speak- 
ing, and then, as if realizing that here words must be wasted, 
he bowed again and walked to the door. Even as his fingers 
closed upon its crystal knob, Captain Mandeville’s seized the 
bellrope by which he had gone to stand. Once, twice, thrice, 
he tore at it, sounding in the servants’ quarters a tocsin of 
alarm that must bring every lackey in the place at the double 
to intercept Latimer before he could leave the house. 

But out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Latimer caught the 
violent pumping action of Mandeville’s raised arm. He 
paused, his hand upon the knob. 

‘T ought to shoot you for that,’ he told the Captain. ‘But it 
isn’t necessary.’ He locked the door, withdrew the key, and 
crossed the room again, under their wondering eyes. ‘I shall 
have to follow the example of King Charles, and leave by the 
window.’ He unfastened the long glass door that gave egress 
to the lawn. 

‘It’s an omen,’ Carey raged at him. ‘You go to the same 
fate.’ 

‘But in a better cause,’ said Latimer, as he pulled the wing 
of the door. 

‘I warn you, sir,’ Carey flung after him, as he was stepping 
out, ‘that, if any harm comes to Featherstone, Pll see you 
hanged for it. I will so, by God! though it cost me life and 
fortune. You graceless, treacherous hound!’ 

Mr. Latimer was gone. Mandeville sprang to the window, 
and stepped out, to see him racing across the lawn to the 
gravelled drive, where his negro groom was waiting with the 
horses. At the same moment came clattering steps across the 
hall outside, alarmed beatings on the door, and alarmed, 
plaintive, liquid accents of the black servants calling to their 
master. 


68 THE CAROLINIAN 


Sir Andrew bade them cease and begone, with a roughness 
such as he rarely employed towards those who served him. 
They departed, chattering and wondering. To increase their 
wonder, Mr. Latimer from beyond the porch, already 
mounted, was calling Remus. He tossed the abstracted key 
to the old butler, then wheeled his horse about and rode off 
with his groom. 

He was halfway down the avenue, before there surged out 
of the pain seething in his mind under the mask of nonchalance 
he had worn the recollection of another matter with which he 
had hoped to deal whilst here at Fairgrove. And it was not 
until he had reached the gates that he conquered the anger 
that was driving him headlong away despite that recollection. 

It had been his hope to make a very different impression, to 
earn some consideration in return for the service he went to 
do at some risk to himself. And he had also hoped from this 
to be given an opportunity to explain himself to Myrtle, to 
reason her into a gentler frame of mind, and to persuade her 
that because he loved his country was no sufficient reason 
why she should refuse to marry him. 

It was Mandeville’s presence at Fairgrove which had made 
shipwreck of his hopes, sweeping the interview into a course 
so different from all that he desired. 

He drew rein, undetermined. He could not depart thus, 
leaving the situation between Myrtle and himself a hundred- 
fold worse than before he came. 

He paused, considering. From the distance came a plaintive 
chant, the singing of the negro slaves in the rice-fields by the 
river, and the sound inspired him. He would write a note to 
her, begging her to come to him out here. A friendly slave — 
and he was well known to them all — should be his messenger. 

He flung down from his horse, gave his reins to the groom, 
and ordered him to ride on for a half-mile or so, and there 
await him. Then he left the avenue, and plunged away 
through the live-oaks and the tangle of vines in the direction 


THE DECEPTION 69 


of the chanting voices. But progress through the under- 
growth of that leafy wilderness became more difficult the 
farther he penetrated. And at last he was forced to pause, 
and, in pausing, reconsidered. Better for his purpose than a 
plantation slave would be one of the house servants; and, if he 
waited, some one of these would surely pass along the avenue 
before very long. They were all his friends, and any one of 
them would do his errand secretly. 

So he retraced in part his steps until the flat stump of an 
oak that had been felled offered him a seat at a point whence 
he could, himself unseen, command a view of the avenue, 
dappled with sunshine and shadow. He sat down, and from 
an inner pocket he produced a notebook and a pencil, and 
hurriedly scrawled a brief but very earnest appeal to Myrtle. 
He tore out the leaf, folded it, and settled down to wait until 
chance should send him the messenger he needed. 

And meanwhile up there at the house Sir Andrew was still 
storming, and Mandeville and Myrtle between them were 
engaged in soothing him, a task which brought them into a 
close alliance very pleasant and consoling to the Captain. He 
felt that he had not conducted himself very well that morning. 
At first he had practised a praiseworthy restraint in the face 
of many difficulties and temptations. He had held aloof from 
all contention, refraining from the obvious quips and sneers 
at Mr. Latimer’s expense to which the young apostle of liberty 
rendered himself vulnerable. A less subtle man would never 
have missed those opportunities of displaying his own wit 
and consequence. But Mandeville knew too much of human 
nature. He had perceived that under Myrtle’s indignation 
with Harry lay a real and deep if momentarily numbed affec- 
tion for him. And he knew that avowedly to range himself 
on the side of Latimer’s enemies, to harass and vex him with 
manifestations of hostility, might only serve to arouse that 
affection of Myrtle’s into activity and provoke her indignation 
against himself. Therefore, even at the cost of having his 


70 THE CAROLINIAN 


courage put in question, Mandeville had clung to the réle of 
the unwilling and pained witness of a painful scene, until the 
circumstances had cruelly forced him to become an actor. The 
bad impression he feared thereby to have created he was now 
anxious to efface. And it was a relief to him to find Myrtle, in 
her ready understanding of the necessities, unresentful of the 
part he had played. 

He was not the man to cry over spilled milk of however 
precious a quality. Latimer had got away, and therefore the 
utility of Featherstone as a spy was at an end. It still re- 
mained to save his life. But his life, shorn of its usefulness to 
Mandeville, was not a matter of much interest to the Captain. 
He was infinitely more concerned to set himself right with 
Myrtle by assuming the réle of tolerant, broad-minded peace- 
maker. When Sir Andrew, apoplectic with anger, reminded 
himself that he should have said this, and answered that, 
Mandeville’s calm voice, laden with compassion for the 
object of the Baronet’s invective, acted as a timely sedative. 

‘Mr. Latimer, sir, is to be compassionated. A young man of 
such parts, of such agreeable qualities, to have been led away 
into such error!’ He sighed his infinite regret. 

And he had his reward, when presently he took his de- 
parture, furiously urged by Carey to lose no time in getting 
to Charles Town and placing Featherstone for safety aboard 
the Tamar. Myrtle came with him, not merely to the steps. 
She would walk with him to the gates. So, Captain Mande- 
ville must go also to the gates on foot, leading his horse. And 
because of the impulse to express the increase of friendliness, 
almost the tenderness, which his selflessness and his alliance 
with her in that troubled hour had inspired, she thrust a hand 
through his left arm as she stepped along beside him. The 
Captain was conscious of a slight quickening of his pulses. 
But, ever master of himself, he conceived that here his 
attitude should be one of affectionate elder-brotherliness. 

‘My dear child, I protest, my heart bleeds for you.’ He 


THE DECEPTION rE 


sighed. ‘And I am angry with myself. To desire so intensely 
to lift something of this burden from your shoulders, and to 
be powerless! It exasperates me.’ 

‘But you have done so much already, Robert. You have 
been so good, so gentle, so patient, so generous!’ She leaned 
a little more heavily and looked up into his face, almost fondly, 
so great and natural was the kindliness he inspired in her. 

‘Generous? If only I could think so. My every impulse is 
to give, and give — and, my dear, I am empty-handed.’ 

‘Oh, it is like you to forget. Didn’t you persuade Lord 
William not to arrest Harry? Was that nothing?’ 

‘Nothing at all. I would have saved him, yes. Not for 
himself, because I did not even know him. But for you, be- 
cause he... because he has, or had, the inestimable blessing 
of your regard. I conceived that, unless I did so, you might 
suffer; and so, even at the cost of duty, I... Oh, but what 
am I saying? For, after all, I have failed. I have betrayed a 
trust to no purpose.’ 

‘T shall never forget what you have done. Never.’ 

‘Then I have not altogether failed. It is a sufficient reward 
for me.’ 

‘But there is Harry. What — oh, what — are we to do?’ 

His face grew overcast. ‘What can one do? One cannot 
argue with a passion. I had hoped that when he saw whither 
he was going, into what danger he was thrusting himself, he 
would have paused. But I might have known that, if the 
thought of offending you could not act as a curb upon his 
conduct, personal danger would hardly have counted. At 
least, that is how it would be with me. And we are often mis- 
led in judging others by ourselves. Oh, it is all most damn- 
able. If I could have detained him now, on the pretext of 
saving Featherstone, we could have put Mr. Latimer under 
lock and key until these troubles are over, as over they soon 
will be once the troops arrive.’ 

‘Was that your intention?’ 


~ 


"2 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘What else? What other way was there of saving him from 
his own rashness? Perhaps. ..if you were to see him...’ 

‘I? See him?’ She looked up at her companion, her little 
face stern, her eyes almost flashing. And Captain Mande- 
ville, who had made the suggestion by way of testing her, was 
now given a glimpse of the sturdy spirit that governed this 
frail body. He could not guess that much of it was begotten 
of resentment because Harry had almost ignored her presence 
throughout the interview. Later, when reviewing it more 
calmly, she would see that the occasion had been denied him. 
But at present there was only resentment. And this she 
expressed. ‘I do not think that I want to see him ever again. 
It is finished. Finished. Did you think I have no pride? 
What do you think of me, I wonder!’ She halted him, and 
was confronting him, almost imperious. 

‘Does it matter what I think?’ There was a gentle wistful- 
ness in his tone. 

‘Should I ask if it did not?’ 

They were, although they knew it not, in full view of 
Harry Latimer where he sat on the oak-stump, observing 
them with frowning eyes. And, unfortunately, they were out 
of earshot. So that whilst he saw all, yet he heard nothing. 

And what he saw was Mandeville turn to her, and, with 
the bridle over his arm, take both her hands in his, looking 
down at her with a face that was all tenderness. What he was 
left to guess were the Captain’s words: 

‘And I, I dare not answer you,’ the Captain said in tones 
that were an answer in themselves. ‘I dare not. And yet I 
am not a coward, although God knows I feared you might 
have thought so once this morning.’ 

‘Thought so? I? Robert, I thought you wonderful in your 
patience. Only a brave man could have borne himself as you 
did.’ 

‘My dear, you fill me with pride. And as for what I think 
of you...’ He paused, he raised the hands he held, and 


THE DECEPTION 73 


stooped to kiss them, first one and then the other, and then, 
because he felt a loosening of the grip of those hands which 
had been firm in his own, because he grew conscious of a 
shrinking on her part from that which she feared instinctively 
that he was about to say, he checked himself upon the brink. 
No man knew better than Mandeville the conquering power 
of patience. Indeed, in that knowledge lay all his strength. 
His tone grew light, robbing his words of all solemnity. 

“Why, if I were to say that I think you adorable, you would 
laugh at me, I know.’ And himself he smiled, looking into her 
face which had grown very pale. ‘So, since you insist, I'll say 
you are the sweetest cousin ever a man discovered in the 
colonies. And I'll add that in Robert Mandeville you have a 
steadfast friend.’ 

‘A friend! A friend! Ah, yes!’ Her grip of his hands 
tightened again, before finally releasing them, the colour came 
racing back to her cheeks. ‘I knew that I was not mistaken in 
you. How rarely can a woman find a friend, a true friend to 
depend upon in her need. Lovers she may have if she will. 
But a friend! Oh, God bless you, Robert!’ 

And, as they moved on he, safe now in that elder-brotherly 
position to which he had retreated, went so far as to put an 
arm about her shoulder, hugging her momentarily. 

‘Count on me always, my dear Myrtle. In any trouble 
arising out of all this, command my help. You promise?’ 

‘Why, gladly,’ she answered, looking up at him, and 
smiling. 

And, that was the last that Latimer’s scowling eyes saw of 
them, the soldier’s scarlet sleeve with its gold-laced cuff about 
her shoulders, her little face upturned to his. 

Mr. Latimer realized that he had been too long away from 
Charles Town, and he conceived that all the cynical utter- 
ances of misogynists with which he was acquainted fell 
lamentably short of truth. Slowly he tore up the little note 
he had written. And when presently Myrtle returned alone, 


74 THE CAROLINIAN 


Mr. Latimer resentfully neglected the opportunity afforded 
him. He waited until she had passed, then went in quest of 
his horse and his groom, and rode straight back to Charles 
Town. 


CHAPTER VII 
MANDEVILLE AS MACHIAVEL 


APTAIN MANDEVILLE got back to the gubernatorial 
residence that afternoon to find Lord William deep in 
the sociabilities of a reception which her ladyship was holding. 
The long drawing-room was a little crowded. There was an 
abundance of tories present, such as the Roupells and the 
Wraggs, and there were a few who, like Miles Brewton, her 
ladyship’s brother-in-law, were so conservative in the method 
of their opposition to the Royal Government as to appear — 
at least, in the eyes of whigs — to stand somewhere between 
the two parties; but the remainder, and they made up the 
major part of the attendance, were members of families that 
Sir Andrew Carey would have described as rebel. 

The discerning and rather scornful dark eyes of Captain 
Mandeville beheld here an epitome of the colony itself. Two 
parties secretly hostile, each arming against the other, and 
yet each anxiously straining to preserve the peace, since 
neither felt itself yet ripe for war, nor knew what war might 
bring it; each prepared for battle as a last resource, yet each 
intent not to precipitate battle, and each hoping that the 
ultimate need for it might yet be averted. 

The Captain made his way towards his lordship, and found 
himself presently confronting Lady William, a splendid, 
vigorous young woman between fair and dark who stood al- 
most as tall as her viceregal husband and displayed an opu- 
lence of charms that compelled in the classical-minded the 
thought of Hebe. And it was not only her figure and move- 
ments that suggested vigour, but her countenance, too, which 
was boldly handsome. 

‘You are late,’ she rallied the Captain. ‘And you bring the 
usual excuse, no doubt. Poor slave of duty!’ 


"6 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Your ladyship’s penetration spares my poor wit.’ 
‘Not penetration, sir. Compassion.’ She took him by the 
tm. ‘You are to come and talk to Miss Middleton. She loves 
a red-coat so much that it almost makes her loyal.’ 

‘Your ladyship must forgive me. I have to see Lord William 
at once.’ 

He was grave, and, observing him sharply, there was a flash 
of apprehension from Lady William’s eyes. For all her high 
and at times rather reckless courage, she dwelt in constant 
anxiety for the husband she loved who had been elevated to 
this position of as much difficulty as honour. 

“Is it serious?’ she asked. 

‘Not so much serious as urgent,’ he reassured her. ‘I have 
had a busy day.’ 

She recovered the caustic humour that was natural to her. 

‘Nothing fills me with so much anxiety as your activities, 
Robert.’ 

He smiled his acknowledgments, and passed on to draw 
‘ Lord William presently from the ladies who had been engaging 
_ him. They were joined in the small adjacent room by Captain 
_ Tasker, his lordship’s other equerry, whom Mandeville had 
| Ree ted: and by Innes, who had followed of his own accord 
upon seeing them withdraw. Mandeville wasted no words. 

‘The fellow who waited upon your excellency this morning, 
calling himself Dick Williams, was Harry Latimer.’ 

It was necessary for him to repeat the statement in other 
terms before it was understood. 

‘Good lack!’ said his lordship, and proceeded to recall 
what had passed. When he had recalled it, he added: ‘My 
God!’ and stared blankly at Mandeville. 

Mandeville answered the stare with a nod. ‘I am afraid he 
got a good deal of information out of us. He was sent to 
spy out the land, to pry into your excellency’s real feelings 
towards these Provincials, and to discover the channel through 
which certain secret information of the transactions of the 






MANDEVILLE AS MACHIAVEL 77 


Provincial Congress was finding its way to you. I am afraid 
he has succeeded in all three aims.’ 

‘Oh, but it’s impossible! There was Cheney!’ his lordship 
exclaimed. 

Very briefly Mandevilleinformed him of what had happened 
at Fairgrove. His lordship groaned. 

‘You see with what a dangerous man you have to deal,’ 
said Mandeville. ‘He is resourceful, daring, and a passionate 
rebel, and his wealth gives him extraordinary influence and 
extraordinary power.’ 

‘Yes, yes,’ snapped his lordship impatiently. ‘But Feather- 
stoner Have you warned him?’ 

‘That is not important,’ said Mandeville coldly. ‘Feather- 
stone is a pricked bubble. He is of no further use to us since I 
was unable to detain Latimer.’ 

‘But, my God, man! We must save him!’ 

‘I wonder,’ said Mandeville in such a tone that the three 
stared at him in amazement. 

‘But didn’t you say that they’ll hang him once Latimer has 
denounced him?’ 

‘That, or tar-and-feather him.’ Mandeville mentioned the 
alternative casually. And in the same level, well-bred voice 
he added: ‘If any such harm were to come to him, we should 
have a very clear case against Latimer. I, myself, and 
probably Sir Andrew Carey, too, can bear witness that it was 
brought about by Latimer’s seditious agency.’ 

‘And you would sacrifice Featherstone to obtain that?’ The 
young voice was charged with horror. 

Almost Mandeville looked surprised. ‘This is neither a 
case nor a time for sentiment.’ His tone was dry. ‘Better 
men than Featherstone have been sacrificed before now to 
policy. Myself, Iam not very tender where a spy is concerned. 
A short shrift is the stake on the board with him. And consider 
what you stand to gain. You are afforded the means to rid the 
State of a dangerous enemy.’ 


78 THE CAROLINIAN 


There was a long moment’s silence before his lordship found 
an answer. His humane young soul was shocked. 

‘You’re a cold-blooded Machiavel,’ he said at length, in 
accents of wonder. 

Mandeville shrugged. ‘ Your excellency is the Governor of 
a province that is rotten with sedition, and you must take 
what means you can to stamp it out. The Ministry at home 
expects no less. Is the life of a poor creature like Feather- 
stone to prove an obstacle in so great a work?’ 

His lordship clenched his hands behind his back, and took a 
turn in the room, a prey to very obvious agitation. Tasker 
and Innes looked on saying no word, both of them a little 
appalled by Mandeville’s soulless theories of statecraft. 
Mandeville watched his excellency almost in contempt. Was 
this boyish, emotional young nobleman the sort of man to 
crush the hydra of rebellion? What hope, he wondered, was 
there for an empire whose ministers gave such positions as 
these to younger sons all unequipped to bear them? 

But Lord William, though humane and emotional, was not 
by any means as inept in statecraft as Mandeville supposed 
him. This his pronouncement now showed. 

‘Humanely speaking, what you suggest, Mandeville, is 
horrible. Politically it is mad. If we use Featherstone as a 
bait, how shall we afterwards dare to take Latimer? Before 
what court in the province will you bring him to trial? What 
court do you dream would convict him?’ 

‘He could — indeed, he should — be sent to England for 
trial on such a charge.’ 

His excellency crashed fist into palm to express his exas- 
peration. 

“You would make use of an enactment which is one of the 
present colonial grievances, to deal with a man who is a hero 
in the eyes of the mob, and for an offence for which the 
province will acclaim him? Is that your statecraft? Don’t 
you see that it would precipitate the very thing that we are at 


MANDEVILLE AS MACHIAVEL 79 


all costs to avoid? That it would bring open rebellion about 
our ears? That it would compel us to have recourse to violence 
on our side, and so make an end of the last hope of concilia- 
tion between the colonies and the empire?’ 

‘That hope is chimerical,’ said Captain Mandeville, with 
assurance. ‘It is the illusion that brings indecision and the 
weakness of indecision into our policy.’ 

But now Lord William asserted himself. ‘A matter of 
opinion, Mandeville; and not the opinion that I hold myself. 
However I may prepare for the worst, I still hope for the best. 
And I hope with some confidence.’ 

‘But if...’ Mandeville was beginning. 

The Governor held up his hand. ‘There is no more to be 
said.’ 

Mandeville might dominate him upon all points but this: 
for upon this his lordship was dominated by his colonial wife 
and her numerous relatives in Charles Town, in all of whom 
the hope was confident — being firmly based upon their in- 
tense desires — that conciliation must yet prevail. 

‘T will thank you,’ his excellency concluded, ‘to waste no 
time in finding Featherstone. Let him join Kirkland aboard 
the Tamar. Thornborough will see to him, and he will be safe 
there. At need we must send him to England.’ 

If mortified, Mandeville betrayed no sign of it. He bowed 
his acknowledgment of the Governor’s commands. 

‘It shall be done at once,’ he said, as evenly as if there never 
had been any question of another course. 

And Mr. Innes in relating the affair offers upon it this 
comment: 


His excellency called him to his face a cold-blooded Machi- 
avel because he displays energy and determination, qualities in 
which Lord William is sadly lacking. If Captain Mandeville 
were the Governor of this province, there would be a speedy end 
to its mutinous spirit. 


Mr. Innes little suspected that in this case the Captain’s 


80 THE CAROLINIAN 


determination went so much farther than his energy that, 
failing to discover Gabriel Featherstone at the house of the 
married sister with whom he dwelt — and where of necessity 
he must inquire for him in view of the Governor’s explicit 
order — Mandeville was careful to seek him nowhere else 
where there was the faintest likelihood of his being found. 
Captain Mandeville intended that the province should be 
governed according to his own ideas: and, when these ideas 
were in conflict with the Governor’s, it only remained for him 
to force the Governor’s hand. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Latimer, too, had returned to Charles 
Town, and at just about the time that Mandeville was thread- 
ing his way through the ranks of Lady William’s guests, the 
young rebel was striding into the dining-room of his splendid 
mansion on East Bay. 

It was a room, of rather sombre dignity, natal in dark 
oak, with portraits of bygone Latimers sunken into the 
Deine. Like most of the house, it was furnished mainly in 
walnut, imported fifty or sixty years ago from Holland, and of 
the character that in England is associated with the reign of 
William and Mary. From the wide overmantel the room was 
surveyed by a saturnine gentleman in a ponderous periwig, 
between whom and Harry Latimer a resemblance was to be 
traced. A still stronger resemblance might be traced — and 
has been traced rather maliciously by Lord Charles Montagu 
— between this portrait by Sir Godfrey Kneller of Charles 
Fitzroy Latimer, who was the founder of his house, and — in 
the actual words of Lord Charles — ‘that merry prince who 
was charged to his face by the Duke of Buckingham with 
being, indeed, the father of a good many of his subjects.’ 

On a cane day-bed under one of the tall windows lounged a 
large fair young man reading ‘The Vicar of Wakefield.’ He 
was the male counterpart of Lady William Campbell: but his 
countenance lacked a good deal of the force of hers, and his 
personality a good deal of her magnetism. Still, he remained 


MANDEVILLE AS MACHIAVEL 81 


a young gentleman of very amiable exterior whom it was im- 
possible not to like. That he was indolent and good-natured, 
you perceived at a glance. That the most serious business he 
knew in life were horse-racing, cock-fighting, and fox-hunting, 
you would have no difficulty in believing at once. That he 
should be taking sufficient interest in provincial politics to be 
whole-heartedly on the side of the colonials was less obvious. 

On Latimer’s appearance, Mr. Thomas Izard tossed aside 
his book, and stifled a yawn. 

‘I was beginning to grow anxious for you,’ he said. 

“Why, what’s o’clock?’ As he asked the question, Latimer 
sought the answer to it from the tall walnut clock standing in 
the corner. ‘Half-past five. Egad! I had no notion it was so 
late.’ 

‘The time will ha’ been spent agreeably.’ 

‘Agreeably!’ Latimer flung himself into a chair to render 
a brief account of it. ‘ You see,’ he ended, ‘I didn’t overrate 
the risk to my liberty, although I hadn’t reckoned on finding 
Captain Mandeville there.’ 

Tom considered him with a gloomy eye. ‘I could ha’ told 
you it would be long odds. The gallant Captain rides out 
there almost daily.’ 

‘Why didn’t you?’ 

‘You'd ha’ seen the inference, and given me the lie, most 
like. And, let me perish, I don’t want to quarrel with you 
about any member of the faithless sex, Harry.’ 

His bitter allusion to womankind derived from the fact that 
his wife had left him a year ago to run off with a young 
French nobleman who had visited the colony. Considering 
that she was a termagant and a scold who had given him two 
years of married torment, he should have been thankful. In- 
stead, the human mind being tortuous, he was resentful, and 
prayed for the day when he might call out and kill the French- 
man who had really done him the greatest service of his 
life. 


82 THE CAROLINIAN 


I mention the otherwise irrelevant fact that you may realize 
that he was about the unlikeliest counsellor Harry Latimer 
could have found just then. 

‘Ye-es,’ he answered slowly, his eyes troubled. And then 
he brushed the painful thing aside. His voice was almost 
casual. ‘Myrtle has discovered that she can’t marry a man 
who doesn’t believe that King George can do no wrong. And 
she has demonstrated to me her preference for a red-coat who 
has the honour to serve His Gracious Majesty. It’s logical, I 
suppose.’ 

‘Logical!’ Mr. Izard sneered. ‘Who ever knew a woman to 
be logical? It’s calculating. That’s what itis, Harry. And so, 
let me perish, not worth a thought. I’m glad you take it so 
well. As I wrote to you, Mandeville may be Ear! of Chalfont 
some day if his luck holds.’ 

But to his surprise Harry turned on him in sudden fury. 

‘What the devil do you mean, Tom?’ 

‘Good Gad! Isn’t it what you mean?’ 

‘D’ye suppose I’d suspect Myrtle of being mercenary? Of 
selling herself for a title?’ 

‘Never been known in the history of the world, has it?’ 

“Never with such women as Myrtle.’ 

‘It seems to me you’ve a lot to learn, Harry,’ said Mr. 
Izard, as one speaking with the authority of experience. 
‘Women are the most damned...’ 

‘Tl thank you not to generalize. Mr. Thomas Izard on 
Woman isn’t edifying.’ 

‘No. By Gad! He isn’t! The subject don’t allow it. But 
he’s instructive.’ 

And then the entrance of old Julius put a timely term to an 
unprofitable discussion. He brought a tray on which were 
glasses and a silver bowl containing a delectable punch of rum 
and pineapple and lemons, also a silver box of fine leaf and 
a couple of pipes. 

Not until they were alone again did any word pass between 


a a a 


MANDEVILLE AS MACHIAVEL 83 


the two friends, and then the interrupted subject was not 
resumed. There was a much more urgent matter. 

‘Since I require no deputy at the meeting, Tom, you may 
give me the letter that I left with you.’ 

‘Gladly enough,’ said Tom, and fetched the package from 
his pocket. ‘Egad, if you hadn’t returned, and I had had to 
attend the meeting for you,’ I shouldn’t have been there long. 
Id ha’ had a party of Sons of Liberty out at Fairgrove to fetch 
you away to-night.’ 

‘I was sure I could trust you for that;’ said Harry, smiling. 
‘They little knew what they would be invoking when they 
thought to detain me.’ 

The walnut clock struck the hour of six. Mr. Latimer 
bounded to his feet. 

‘I must go,’ he said. ‘Six is the hour of the meeting. Stay 
to sup with me. I'll not be very long. Smoke a pipe mean- 
while.’ 

He was almost at the door when Tom called after him. 
‘Look to yourself, Harry. Don’t go abroad unarmed. You'll 
be a marked man, stab me, after what’s happened.’ 


CHAPTER VIII 
DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 


T was but a step from Latimer’s house to that of Henry 

Laurens, where the special and self-elected committee of 
investigation was already assembled to receive now the report 
which Latimer had promised. 

They came to business without loss of time. Briefly and 
lucidly Mr. Latimer gave his account of what had transpired 
that morning at the Governor’s. Leaving, with true dramatic 
instinct the more sensational matter for the end, he began by 
relating all that had passed between himself and Lord William 
bearing upon Lord William’s correspondence with the back- 
country tories. And already here, the first note of discord was 
sounded in that meeting. 

‘T formed the impression, gentlemen,’ he was saying at the 
end of his plain narrative of what had passed, ‘that Lord 
William is in the peculiar position of...’ 

He was unceremoniously interrupted by the elder Rutledge. 
Turning to Laurens, who now presided, and speaking in the 
cold, unemotional voice that was habitual with him: ‘I 
submit, sir, that this is irrelevant. Mr. Latimer’s personal 
impressions are not evidence for our consideration.’ 

It was the lawyer speaking, and those who were not lawyers 
were quick to resent it. In particular was Gadsden of these. 

‘Hold your tongue, John Rutledge,’ he snapped. ‘What you 
think of what Latimer thinks isn’t evidence either.’ 

It raised a laugh against Rutledge which, outwardly at 
least, perturbed him not at all. As it subsided, Colonel 
Laurens — he had held the rank of lieutenant-colonel in 
Middleton’s regiment during the war against the Cherokees 

— expressed the opinion that Mr. Latimer should continue. 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 85 


‘If I were in a position to place before you an accurate and 
full report of what words were used by me and what by Lord 
William, then there might be some grounds for Mr. Rutledge’s 
objection. But as I am in no case to do that, and depending 
entirely upon my memory of what passed, the objection is 
frivolous.’ 

‘Frivolous?’ Rutledge echoed the word, but coloured its 
utterance by no expression. Yet somehow he conveyed the 
sense that he sneered. 

‘Frivolous, because in such a case impressions are as 
precious as recollections, and possibly more accurate.’ There 
was murmur of general agreement, and Latimer continued. 

What he said amounted to an assurance that Lord William 
honestly desired — as was to be expected in a man of his 
colonial attachments — reconciliation, and that he would 
labour earnestly to this end, whilst at the same time labouring 
no less earnestly to prepare for the worst so as not to be taken 
unawares. 

‘But when all is said,’ Rutledge again interposed, ‘there 
remains the fact that he is in active correspondence with the 
back-country settlers, and that he is advising them to arm. 
Lord William, in fact, is running with the hare and hunting 
with the hounds.’ 

Colonel Laurens took him up on that, his voice calm and 
gentle, inviting consideration. 

‘Are we not all doing that? Are we not, indeed, constrained 
to do it by the necessities of the case? Can we say to what 
lengths this or any other colony will be warranted by the voice 
of America in opposing the King’s officers, though such opposi- 
tion should be necessary for the very existence of the colony?’ 

The answer, as might be expected, came from Gadsden, 
harshly, impatiently: ‘That which is necessary for the very 
existence of the colony must of necessity be done. In such a 
case the consequences cannot matter.’ 

_ And Drayton added, epigrammatically summarizing Gads- 


86 THE CAROLINIAN 


den’s pronouncement: ‘The worst should not deter us from 
action, since the worst is already assured us by inaction.’ 

‘That may be so,’ Laurens agreed, regretfully. ‘But itisa 
matter to be determined by the future. And we are here to 
deal with the situation as it is at present.’ 

The benign Mr. Pinckney rapped the table. ‘Sirs, we are 
digressing. The matter is one for the Provincial Congress, 
when we lay before it the result of Mr. Latimer’s investiga- 
tions. We have yet to hear Mr. Latimer on the subject with 
which we are more immediately concerned: the leakage of 
information that has been taking place.’ And he nodded to 
Latimer to continue. 

‘In that matter,’ said Latimer, ‘my investigations were 
attended by singular good fortune.’ And he told them of the 
list which the Governor had shown him. ‘That list was in a 
hand with which I happen to be familiar. It was written by 
Gabriel Featherstone.’ 

This created such a sensation as the disclosure of the 
identity of a traitor must ever create in any society of con- 
spirators. Nor were all the exclamations hostile to the ac- 
cused. Scoundrel though he was, Featherstone had known 
how to insinuate himself by flattery and other arts into the 
good graces of several leaders of the colonial party, among 
whom were the Rutledges and Colonel Laurens. These were 
disposed to suspend judgment, and desired first to cross- 
examine the accuser. They were, however, anticipated in 
utterance by Gadsden, who bounced up as Mr. Latimer, his 
report concluded, resumed his seat. 

‘This calls for action,’ he announced violently. ‘Immediate 
action. An example must be made. The blackguard must be 
arrested at once.’ 

‘Upon what grounds, sir?’ Colonel Laurens asked him. 

The question, especially coming from one who because of 


his moderation had long been in conflict with the uncom- 


promising Gadsden, infuriated the republican. 


\ 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 87 


‘Grounds? My God! Hasn’t Mr. Latimer given us grounds 
enough?’ 

‘Yes, yes. But I mean upon what actual charge is he to be 
arrested. What offence at law has he committed? My indig- 
nation against him is no less than Mr. Gadsden’s; but we must 
preserve the forms.’ 

‘To hell with the forms!’ Gadsden roared. ‘The man’s a 
traitor. For our own preservation he must be weeded out. 
And there’s more to it than that. Haven’t you heard? Haven’t 
you understood from what Mr. Latimer has told us that there’s 
a rope about the neck of several of us, placed there by this 
scoundrel? And you talk to me of forms! What forms did 
you observe in the case of Cheney? What forms would you 
have observed in the case of Kirkland if you could have got 
him? And what had they done compared with what this 
treacherous kite has done?’ 

Pinckney answered him: ‘ Kirkland was a deserter from the 
militia. In that there was at least a technical offence upon 
which we could proceed against him. Featherstone, un- 
fortunately for us, has done nothing which under the con- 
stitution would warrant so much as our expelling him from 
our midst, much less calling him to legal account.’ 

‘You'll sit and talk about constitution and legal forms until 
we are all destroyed. You spend your days in consideration 
whilst the other side is arming to crush us into submission.’ 

Thus Gadsden began, and he was but gathering his forces 
for an oratorical onslaught upon his associates’ scruples, when 
John Rutledge’s cold, incisive voice sliced into the outburst. 
Correct in all things and at all times, he addressed himself 
scrupulously to the chair. 

‘This heat, sir, in a matter asking calm deliberation is to be 
deprecated.’ 

‘Deliberate and deprecate and be damned,’ said Gadsden, 
and he sat down in a huff. 

Rutledge pursued his even way, unruffled. ‘There are one 


88 THE CAROLINIAN 


or two points to be considered before we can regard Feather- 
stone’s guilt as established. At present it depends upon the 
evidence of a single witness, and his testimony again rests 
upon no better grounds than that of his recognition of a man’s 
handwriting! Now, those of you who have experience of 
courts are well aware that no evidence is more unreliable than 
that which depends upon handwriting alone. Nothing is more 
deceptive than the similarities or dissimilarities to be detected 
between one hand and another.’ 

Less perhaps his argument than the deliberate manner in 
which he marshalled its points impressed his hearers. Therein 
lay the man’s formidable strength as an advocate. He was 
never turgid, and seldom passionate. He convinced by the 
flattery of his calm, cold appeal to reason and intellect — often 
to reason and intellect not present in his audience. Even 
Gadsden, a moment ago so impatient, now contained himself 
to listen attentively. 

‘Mr. Latimer has told us,’ Rutledge pursued, ‘that he 
recognized the hand of Featherstone when shown the list of 
names by the Governor. I take it that in reality,’ and his 
calm, full eyes turned slowly upon Featherstone’s accuser, 
‘this is no more than an expression of opinion on the part of 
Mr. Latimer. I take it that it cannot possibly be more.’ 

Latimer looked at Laurens, and Laurens nodded to him. 

‘It is much more,’ he said, his voice now as quiet and even 
as Rutledge’s, and so invested with a note of finality. ‘Itisa 
statement, not of opinion, but of fact. My opportunities for 
becoming as intimately acquainted with the hand of Gabriel 
Featherstone as with my own are far greater than Mr. 
Rutledge imagines.’ And he stated them at full and convincing 
length. 

‘Are you answered?’ shouted Gadsden to Rutledge. 


The lawyer’s reply to the taunt was so full of dignity that — 


it immediately placed Gadsden in the wrong and anne 
vindicated himself. 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 89 


‘I am solely concerned that we should not do an injustice 
to one who has laboured for many months as our colleague. 
Beyond that I have no interest to serve. I regret that it 
should become necessary for me to state it.’ There was no 
heat in his words, no shadow of resentment. ‘Even now, even 
after this clear statement, which goes far to justify Mr. Lat- 
imer, and with which he would have been well advised to have 
begun, I should still deplore any action until we have obtained 
by tests independent confirmation of his evidence.’ 

‘I have already applied a test and obtained independent 
confirmation,’ Mr. Latimer announced. 

‘You have?’ Rutledge’s dark, level brows were raised a 
little in a surprise whose source was easily discerned. ‘May 
we know the nature of it?’ 

Mr. Latimer realized, to his annoyance, that he was now 
constrained to go into matters upon which he would naturally 
have preferred not to have touched. 

‘But is it really necessary?’ he said. 

Rutledge answered him directly: ‘Surely you must see the 
necessity of putting forward all your evidence to substantiate 
so grave a charge as you are making?’ 

Latimer looked at him a moment. Then he turned to the 
President. 

‘I begin to wonder, sir, whether it is Featherstone or myself 
who is accused. It certainly appears to me that I am made to 
stand here on my defence.’ 

There were cries of repudiation from Gadsden, Drayton, 
and Moultrie, a friendly smile from Laurens and another 
from Pinckney. Only the two Rutledges— the younger 
following the elder’s lead — remained impassive. They dealt 
with evidence, not with emotions. 

‘Before I continue, sir,’ Latimer resumed, ‘I invite you to 
place me upon oath...’ 

‘Mr. Latimer!’ It was an exclamation of deprecation from 
the President. ‘You are a man whose honour no one questions. 


go THE CAROLINIAN 


Your word is enough for all of us.’ And an assenting murmur | 


ran round the table. 

‘Is it enough for the gentleman who constitutes himself the 
advocate of the traitor?’ 

‘That’s it!’ said Gadsden. ‘He’s named you rightly, by 
God!’ : 

But the imperturbable John Rutledge disdained alterca- 
tion. 

‘It is quite sufficient, Mr. Latimer. You name me advocate 
for the traitor. I accept the office without shame. In com- 
monest justice, it is necessary that the absent should be 
represented. I should do the same for you, sir.’ 

‘The need is not likely to arise,’ said Latimer curtly. ‘But 
let me proceed. The admission that the list was supplied by 
Featherstone came, if not from the Governor himself, at least 
from the Governor’s equerry, Captain Mandeville, who pro- 
cured Featherstone to act as his agent and convey to him 
intelligence of our deliberations and acts. And I had prac- 
tically the same admission from Sir Andrew Carey, who was 
a party to placing Featherstone in our ranks for purposes 
of betrayal.’ 

‘Sir Andrew Carey?’ Laurens questioned. ‘How does he 
come into the affair at all?’ 

‘I had best be entirely frank, though you reproach me with 
indiscretion in the end.’ And now Latimer told them of his 
visit to Fairgrove, and of what had there transpired. 

A silence followed the conclusion of his account, and, after 
waiting a moment for any question that might be put to him, 
Latimer resumed his seat. It was only then that Rutledge 
spoke. 

‘In view of the energy employed by Mr. Latimer, I deplore 
to be compelled to censure the lack of discretion by which it 
has been accompanied. It was a grave error to permit the 
other side to become aware of the discovery of Featherstone’s 
treachery.’ 


ae yA. ae 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE or 


All eyes were turned upon him, and there was a heavy 
silence of disapproval in which all waited for some further 
explanation of his meaning. Since he made no shift to add 
anything, Moultrie took up the cudgels on behalf of Harry 
Latimer. 

‘Ye’re a cursed curmudgeon, John, whom there’s no 
satisfying.’ 

‘I confess,’ said Mr. Latimer, ‘that the et thing I had 
expected was to be reprimanded by any member of this 
meeting.’ 

‘The meeting, Mr. Latimer, is very far from reprimanding 
you,’ Colonel Laurens assured him. 

‘Which means, sir,’ Rutledge calmly replied, ‘that the 
meeting reprimands me. That is only because the meeting 
does not fully apprehend either the rashness of Mr. Latimer’s 
action or the loss to ourselves which it entails. Let me make 
these clear. In the first place, Mr. Latimer exceeded his 
commission, which is in itself a reprehensible matter. He was 
requested to visit the Governor so as to sound his real feelings 
and to endeavour if possible to discover by whom we are being 
betrayed. It was his clear duty to do nothing further until 
he should have presented his report to this meeting. And it 
was for this meeting to determine what steps should be taken 
to obtain confirmation of his report.’ 

Moultrie impatiently interrupted him: ‘What better steps 
could the committee have devised than those which Mr. 
Latimer took?’ 

‘That is not at all the point.’ Rutledge was patience itself. 

‘Neither is that an answer,’ Gadsden taunted him. 

‘But I have no difficulty in supplying one. There are 
various ways of leading a spy into betraying himself. One of 
these — and it is the method I should have recommended — 
is to supply him with false information of intentions. If the 
opposite side is seen to act upon that information, it is very 
clear whence it was derived. Such a method would have had 


Q2 THE CAROLINIAN 


all the advantages of that adopted by Mr. Latimer, without 
any of its disadvantages.’ 

‘What are these disadvantages?’ Moultrie demanded. 

Mr. Rutledge looked round the table with those calm eyes | 
of his, eyebrows raised to signify a faint surprise. 

‘Can it be possible that they are not as obvious to every one 
here as they are to me? When a body such as ours discovers a 
spy in its midst, one of two courses is to be adopted. Either 
the spy is to be utilized as a means for supplying the other side 
with false information calculated to lull them into a sense of 
security and generally to mislead them as to intentions which 
it is desirable to mask, or else the spy is to be instantly 
suppressed. It is very probable that Mr. Latimer’s un- 
warrantable independent action has made either course 
impossible.’ 

The faces about the board became grave. The hostility ta 
Rutledge passed out of them, as the force of his reasoning 
sank into the minds of all. Leaeee was conscious, to his 
infinite vexation, that a flush was slowly creeping into his 
cheeks. It was scarcely necessary for Rutledge to continue 
his elucidation. But Rutledge was merciless. 

‘That we can no longer make use of the spy for our own 
purposes is certain, since Mr. Latimer has announced the 
discovery of him to the other side. That he will elude us, 
perhaps to work mischief against us on another occasion, is, 
for the same reason, now probable.’ 

Gadsden heaved himself. ‘Then, by God! I am going to 
lessen that probability.’ 

But Rutledge stayed him. ‘A moment, Colonel! There 
has been impetuosity enough already. For Heaven’s sake, 
let us now proceed with some calm and forethought.’ 

‘And whilst you so proceed,’ cried Latimer, also rising, 
‘you ensure this fellow’s escape, and so make certain that I 
shall deserve your censure on both counts.’ Only the anger 
possessing him could have driven him to attribute to Rutledge — 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 93 


motives so unworthy and so alien to his character. That 
imputation of dishonesty in one so rigidly honest lost him 
much of the sympathy in which the assembly had still been 
holding him. But Rutledge smiled again his inscrutable 
smile. Like Anthony, he carried his anger as the flint bears 
fire. 

‘Mr. Latimer goes from rashness to rashness. Before 
action is taken against Featherstone, it is necessary that this 
meeting should determine what that course of action is to be.’ 

‘I have no doubt on the subject myself,’ Gadsden assured 
them. 

Rutledge looked at him sternly. ‘The greater reason why 
you should wait.’ And the others, whom this forceful man was 
gradually subduing to his will, confirming him, Christopher 
Gadsden, though not without making plain his sullen resent- 
ment of the delay, resumed his seat. Mr. Latimer, in a re- 
sentment still deeper, was forced to follow his example. 

‘There is apparent rashness on yet another score, which Mr. 
Latimer might be well advised to explain to this meeting.’ 

‘Haven’t you done with me yet?’ cried Latimer. 

‘Unfortunately — in the interests of the cause we all have 
at heart — I have not.’ 

‘God give me patience!’ said Mr. Latimer wearily, and 
sank back in his chair. 

Rutledge went inexorably on: ‘Mr. Latimer himself has 
told us of the grave danger of detention at Fairgrove to which 
he was exposed. It is impossible that he should not have 
foreseen this risk.’ 

‘I didn’t foresee that I should find Captain Mandeville 
there,’ Latimer defended himself. 

‘So much was not necessary. Sir Andrew Carey is a reso- 
lute, uncompromising man. And the risk existed. Mr. 
Latimer must have known that it existed.’ 

‘Well! I took the risk,’ Mr. Latimer answered. And he 
added the sneer: ‘What risks do you take?’ 


94 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘None that I am not entitled to take,’ was the calm retort. 
‘And you were not entitled to take this. Had you been de- 
tained at Fairgrove, had you disappeared, what then?’ 

‘I should have been spared your impertinent questions.’ 

‘Not impertinent. What I require to know is in what case 
should we have been. Deprived of your report, we should not 
have known the result of your investigations, and Feather- 
stone would have continued undisturbed to spy on us.’ 

Mr. Latimer was very angry, and strive though he might 
he could not entirely keep the fact from appearing. He got to 
his feet again in a bound. 

‘Sir,’ he said to the President, ‘I do not know when I have 
been troubled by such a legal windbag or felt the blast of such 
asinine conceit. Mr. Rutledge sweeps from conclusion to 
conclusion with a rashness far beyond anything with which 
he charges me. Let me say, sir, that I had provided for the 
emergency which he supposes. I left behind me a written 
report of what I had discovered from Lord William. Had I 
failed to return home by six o’clock this evening, that report 
would have been laid before this meeting, and nothing would 
have been lost to it of my investigations.’ 

The completeness of the answer and the degree of heat with 
which it was delivered won them all to his side again. He 
perceived the reflection of this on their faces, and swept on to 
follow up his advantage. 

‘Is Mr. Rutledge sufficiently answered? Does he yet con- 
fess that it is himself and not I who want for prescience? I 
await the admission, and I shall accept it as a sufficient 
apology.’ 

‘With whom did you leave that report?’ Rutledge asked 
him, hardily, in view of the present temper of the meeting. 

There was more than a murmur of disapproval. But it 
disturbed Rutledge no more than a breeze disturbs the oak. 

‘It imports to know,’ he insisted. 

‘My God, man! What do you imply now? Do you cast a 


ae ee ae 


a 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 95 


doubt upon my word?’ And, white and wicked-looking, 
Latimer leaned across the table towards his questioner. 

But Rutledge remained cold, hard, and clear as a diamond. 

‘I imply nothing. I ask a question.’ 

‘Answer him, for God’s sake, Harry,’ said Moultrie, im- 
patiently. 

And Harry answered: ‘I left it with my friend Tom Izard, 
who awaited at my own house my return from Fairgrove. 
Is that enough, or shall I fetch Tom Izard to confirm my 
word?’ 

“There is no need to bring Mr. Izard into this,’ said Rut- 
ledge. ‘We all accept Mr. Latimer’s word.’ 

‘I’m glad of that.’ 

‘But may I ask him why he should have preferred Mr. 
Izard to one of ourselves?’ 

‘Because I did not wish to waste time in seeking any of 
you. Mr. Izard is my friend, and he was conveniently at 
hand. Apart from yourselves, he was the only man who knew 
of my presence in Charles Town.’ 

‘Well, well, it is a trifle, perhaps. But when men move as 
we are moving, trifles must be weighed and all risk avoided.’ 

‘I don’t know what the devil you mean, sir,’ Latimer an- 
swered him. ‘But I gather that the avoiding of risks is your 
chief concern in life. You should not expect all men to be made 
on the same cautious pattern. Some of us have spirit, and can 
act better than we can talk, which is as well or nothing would 
be done, for, believe me, sir, nothing is accomplished without 
taking risks.’ 

“You may risk yourself all you please, Mr. Latimer. I have 
no doubt you will do so abundantly. But you must not risk 
others with you, and you must not risk a cause.’ Significantly 
he added: ‘Mr. Izard is the brother of Lady William Camp- 
bell.’ 

Latimer’s eyes flashed. ‘He is a member of the Sons of 
Liberty.’ } 


96 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘So was Featherstone.’ 

‘Mr. Rutledge, you go too far. I have said that Tom Izard 
is my friend.’ 

‘I heard you, sir. That, unfortunately, does not affect his 
other relationship to which I have alluded. I am not suggest- 
ing that Mr. Izard is disposed to treachery. I mentioned 
_ Featherstone merely to show that no reliance can be placed 

upon the fact that he is a member of the Sons of Liberty. 
But it is to be remembered that he is constantly seeing his 
sister Lady William, a very clever, enterprising woman; that 
he is constantly at the Governor’s residence, and that he is a 
young man of light and pleasure-loving habits not by any 
means remarkable for discretion. That such a man should be 
acquainted in however slight a degree with any of our secret 
measures...’ 

He got no further. ‘You may spare me more of this,’ 
Latimer interrupted him. ‘I have allowed you to make havoc 
of my character, sir; but I’ll be damned if I listen to you while 
you defame my friend. At least not in this place, where you 
shelter your impudence behind necessities of State.’ 

‘Mr. Latimer! Mr. Latimer!’ the President endeavoured 
to restrain him. But he appealed in vain. Mr. Latimer had 

-unleashed his anger, and he let it run. 

‘If you have anything to say of Tom Izard, you may say it 
to me elsewhere, where I can horsewhip you if you are want- 
ing in respect to him.’ 

With the single exception of John Rutledge himself, every 
man present came to his feet on that. Rutledge alone con- 
tinued to sit wrapped ever in that mantle of aloof disdain. 

Moultrie caught Latimer’s shoulder to restrain him. 
Angrily Latimer shook off the grip. 

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I take my leave of you. Since no 
word of thanks is forthcoming, since insult is my only 
recompense, I’ll leave you to continue your deliberations 
without me. And while you and this windy attorney sit here 


DEVIL’S ADVOCATE 97 


weighing straws and splitting offensive hairs, I’ll act. Come, 
Gadsden, we know what’s to do.’ 

‘By God, we do!’ said the firebrand. 

Drayton, too, ranged himself on their side. ‘I’m coming 
with you,’ he announced. 

‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen!’ Colonel Laurens called after 
them, as they made for the door, which Latimer had already 
flung open. 

‘There’s been talk enough,’ was all he got from Gadsden, 
who passed out. 

Drayton shrugged in silence, and followed him. 

Harry Latimer was going last, when Rutledge himself 
raised his voice to detain him. 

‘Mr. Latimer, I warn you solemnly that the committee will 
require an account of the action you now intend.’ 

‘T’ll render it with the Sons of Liberty at my back,’ 
Latimer answered him from the threshold. 

‘Mr. Latimer! Let me prevail upon you to return and 
listen to us.’ 

‘Go to the devil!’ said Latimer. And he went out and 
closed the door. 


CHAPTER IX 
TAR AND FEATHERS 


UTSIDE, the evening breeze coming in from the sea 

with the flow of the tide, cooled Mr. Latimer’s excessive 

heat, and brought him to consider one or two things to which 
in the last few moments his anger had blinded him. 

It was idle, he reflected, to go in quest of Featherstone at 
this hour. By this time he must have profited by the warning 
which Mandeville would have borne him; and it was as cer- 
tain as anything can be in this uncertain world that he was 
already safe from any vengeance that might be loosed against 
him. It was not a matter that admitted of doubt. The 
Governor’s anxiety to remove him into safety would spring 
from the same source as Rutledge’s desire to restrain Latimer 
and Gadsden from any violent measures against the scoundrel. 
If the Sons of Liberty took action and dealt summarily with 
Featherstone, Lord William must feel under the necessity of 
asserting himself and demanding justice. He would have the 
clearest information that the person responsible for Feather- 
stone’s fate, directly or indirectly, was Harry Latimer; and 
he must choose between rendering himself and his rule 
ridiculous and punishing the offender. If for the sake of his 
own and his royal master’s dignity he took the latter course, 
he would probably precipitate in South Carolina the very 
troubles which both parties were striving desperately to avert. 
The American Colonies were become highly combustible ma- 
terial, and a conflagration anywhere must spread in a blaze 
of revolt across the continent. 

Latimer was under no delusion as to the purpose for which — 
Rutledge had demanded that he and those who departed with 
him should remain. And it was only his conviction that the 


TAR AND FEATHERS 99 


thing Rutledge dreaded could no longer happen, rather than 
his own personal resentment of the cavalier treatment he had 
received at Rutledge’s hand, which had made him deaf to that 
demand. 

The manner of his departure from the meeting, however, 
seemed to have committed him to joint action with Gadsden 
and Drayton, men who, as he well knew, were totally in- 
different in their downright republicanism whether they 
precipitated a crisis or not. 

He protested that Featherstone by now would have been 
conveyed to safety, and that therefore anything they could do 
was a sheer waste of time. 

‘Perhaps so,’ said Gadsden. ‘We’ll hope not. And, anyway, 
I have called an assembly of my lads in the old Beef Market 
for this evening, against the chance of my being able to give 
them the name of the spy. You must come, Harry. You must 
tell them at first hand of your discovery.’ 

Latimer shrank at first, protesting, from any such course; 
and but for his conviction that Featherstone was out of reach, 
nothing could have persuaded him to it. As it was he ended 
by yielding to Gadsden’s fiery insistence. Within a half-hour 
he was mounted on a stall in the Beef Market addressing a 
crowd of young men, numbering perhaps a hundred, and 
composed almost entirely of mechanics and artisans — the 
lads to whom Christopher Gadsden had for months now been 
preaching the gospel of freedom under Liberty Oak outside 
his own residence. To these Latimer denounced Gabriel 
Featherstone for a spy, telling them of the infamous traffic the 
man had held with the Royal Government, and of the jeop- 
ardy in which he had placed some twenty patriotic necks. 

When Gadsden in a few brief, hot, inciting periods had 
confirmed Latimer, those militant Sons of Liberty would wait 
for no more. With angry shouts of ‘Death to the traitor! 
Death to Featherstone!’ they surged out, and away to do 
summary execution. 


100 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘ 


Up Broad Street and along King Street they swept in the 
direction of Fort Carteret, in the neighbourhood of which 
dwelt the sister with whom Featherstone was lodged. And as 
they went their numbers swelled, others joining them, at- 
tracted by the angry, excited clamour. 

‘Featherstone! Featherstone!’ was the cry. ‘Come and 
feather the stone! Come and tar-and-feather Featherstone! 
Tar-and-Featherstone! ‘Tar-and-Featherstone!’ 

None of the three men responsible for launching the mob 
had any further part in the business. They were left behind 
in the now empty Beef Market. Gadsden, had he obeyed his 
instincts, would have placed himself at the head of his lads; and 
Latimer, too, would have thought it natural to lead a crowd 
which he had roused to this pitch of fury. But Drayton’s 
legal, practical mind restrained them both. 

‘Let the mischief run,’ he advised. ‘No need further to 
implicate ourselves. We should be putting our necks under 
the knife without profiting the others.’ 

Latimer was faintly indignant. ‘I am not by nature over- 
cautious,’ he said. 

Instead of resenting the retort, Drayton explained himself. 
‘Legal action cannot be taken against a mob. But it can 
be taken against an individual who leadsit. And legal action 
must not be provoked because of the consequences that may 
follow out of it.’ 

‘He’s right,’ said Gadsden, ‘although he reasons like John 
Rutledge.’ 

‘Who already has enough against you, Latimer,’ Drayton 
added. 

Therefore, and because firmly convinced at heart that the 
mob must arrive too late to accomplish its bloodthirsty aims, 
Latimer went home, accompanied most of the way by Gads- 
den who was a near neighbour of his own residing also on the 
Bay. 


He would have sat down to supper less complacently could — 


TAR AND FEATHERS IOI 


he have suspected the infernal subtlety of Mandeville. Be- 
cause he did not, because the happening was almost un- 
accountable in his eyes, he was shocked and dismayed when, 
an hour or so later, Tom Izard came like a whirlwind into the 
dining-room whilst he was still at table. 

‘What’s the matter?’ Latimer had greeted him, seeing his 
startled face and agitated condition. 

‘Hell’s the matter!’ Tom blazed out at him. ‘There’s a 
mob of maniacs bent on devilry in the streets.’ 

‘Pooh! They’ll do no harm. They'll seize an empty nest.’ 

‘Do no harm! Let me perish, it’s the harm they’ve done 
already.’ 

‘They haven’t got Featherstone?’ cried Harry, his cheeks 
blenching. 

‘Got him, man? They’ve murdered him. They broke into 
his sister’s house, and they’ve nearly wrecked it by their 
violence. Featherstone was sitting down to supper with her 
and his brother-in-law. There was no time to hide him. They 
got him. They dragged him out, screaming like a terrified 
woman. They tore the clothes from his back until they had 
him stark naked. A revolting business. They tarred and 
feathered him there almost under the eyes of his sister; then 
they dragged him, still screaming, through the streets to the 
Corner, and hanged him there on the tree in front of the 
tavern. My God! I can’t get the sounds of his screeching 
out of my ears.’ 

Latimer sat there clutching the arms of his high-backed 
chair, staring straight before him, stark horror on his white 
face. 

‘They say,’ Tom informed him, ‘that it was you and 
Gadsden who set the mob on.’ 

‘Aye, aye!’ It was an ejaculation of impatience, of ex- 
asperation, rather than assent. ‘But how came the mob to 
get him? What has Mandeville been doing? Didn’t he warn 
him, or didn’t the fool heed the warning?’ 


102 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Nay, how doI know? Featherstone may have got no more 
then he deserved. But you should have kept your hand out of 
it, Harry. You'll have to look to yourself after this.’ 

‘What’s that?’ Harry considered him sharply, horror 
giving place to a sudden alertness. ‘Do you think... ?’ he 
began. 

‘What?’ 

‘Yes, by Heaven! That’s it! That’sit, Tom! This infernal 
Captain Mandeville has deliberately kept silent and let his 
agent Featherstone perish, so as to make a case against me, 
so that I may be brought to account.’ 

‘Oh, you’re mad.’ 

‘Am I? What else is possible? Mandeville was in Charles 
Town two full hours before I denounced Featherstone to the 
Sons of Liberty in the Beef Market. In a quarter of that time 
Featherstone could have been placed beyond our reach. Why 
was he not? Why? Answer me that.’ 

‘But if that was your belief, why did you trouble to de- 
nounce him?’ 

‘Why?’ Latimer stared at him for a long moment, whilst 
he sought within himself for an answer. ‘Oh, I was just led 
by the nose by my annoyance with Rutledge. A silly gesture 
of defiance to him. And it was unnecessary, because if I 
hadn’t, Gadsden would have set them on. But I give you 
my word, Tom, I would never have done it, and, had Gadsden 
done it, I should myself have gone to warn Featherstone, if I 
could have suspected the trap which Mandeville had baited 
for me.’ He paused a moment; then added in a dull voice: 
‘Carey will never forgive me this.’ 

And now came Julius, to announce Rutledge, Moultrie, and 
Laurens. 

Harry tossed aside his napkin, and rose to receive them. All 
three, even Moultrie who loved him, were stern and hostile. 

Rutledge was the first to address him and this abruptly, 
uncompromisingly, his voice corrosively acid. 


TAR AND FEATHERS 103 


‘So, sir, you have had your way in defiance and in despite 
of us all.’ 

What was there that he could say that would be believed? 
He stood in silence to receive whatever reprimand Rutledge 
chose to administer, and he knew that Rutledge would not 
spare him. Outwardly he strove to maintain an air of im- 
passivity, which the delegate mistook for insolence. 

‘The mob, sir, is acclaiming you its hero,’ Rutledge con- 
tinued. ‘Therefore, you may be content, since that pre- 
sumably is all that you desired, all that you wrought for.’ 

‘There, at least, you are at fault,’ Latimer answered firmly. 
‘Each of us carries in himself a standard by which to measure 
his neighbour. Out of your vanity, I must presume, sir, you 
find in vanity the source of other men’s actions.’ 

‘Excellent!’ said Rutledge. ‘It is the very time for 
philosophic reflections. Pll ignore that insult with the rest.’ 

‘I am sure you will,’ said Latimer, conscious though he 
was that at every word he put himself further in the wrong. 

Moultrie intervened. ‘You know what it means, Harry?’ 

‘I know that I don’t much care.’ 

‘But you must care,’ Laurens informed him gravely. ‘It 
is to make you understand that we have come. You have 
no time to lose. Your arrest may be ordered at any mo- 
ment.’ 

‘My arrest?’ / 

‘What else?’ Rutledge demanded. ‘You set a mob on to do 
a man to death, and think that nothing is to happen as a 
consequence? You would not listen to me this evening...’ 

‘And [I will not listen to you now,’ Latimer interrupted 
him. ‘It is your fault largely that I am where I am.’ 

‘My fault!’ Rutledge looked at his companions to invite 
their consideration of this fantastic statement. ‘My fault? 
You are a little wild in your accusations, sir.’ 

‘Mr. Rutledge, I do not choose to be more precise. This is 
my house, and if you must taunt me into insulting you, I 


104 THE CAROLINIAN 


prefer that you do it in some other place. Tom, will you be 
good enough to ring for Julius.’ 

‘A moment, sir! A moment!’ A faint colour was stirring 
in Rutledge’s full cheeks. 

‘Indeed, you must listen to us,’ Moultrie added. ‘Don’t 
ring, Tom. You are to realize, Harry, that we can’t have you 
arrested.’ 

‘But who is to arrest me?’ 

‘If the Governor orders it, we must submit. And if you are 
arrested, you will be tried; and if tried, you will certainly be 
hanged.’ 

‘If the Sons of Liberty permit it,’ countered Harry. ‘You 
say they are acclaiming me, and I said I was indifferent. Iam 
not. [have changed my mind. I place my trust in the people, 
and so may you.’ 

‘But don’t you understand, Latimer,’ Laurens explained, 
‘that this is precisely what we desire to avoid; the explosion 
that must follow.’ 

‘I am not at all concerned to avoid it. On the contrary, I 
shall welcome it. I shall welcome arrest and trial. It will en- 
able me to expose the sly, deliberate Senet! by which I have 
been driven into this corner.’ 

The three looked at one another gravely. Then, in a firm 
tone of finality, Moultrie expressed what was in the mind of all. 

‘Harry, you must leave Charles Town to-night. At once.’ 

‘I don’t perceive the necessity.’ 

‘But you'll go, nevertheless,’ said Laurens. 

‘Not a step.’ 

Rutledge took up the attack once more. 

‘Are you so stupid that you don’t understand, or so wilful 
and headstrong that you don’t care? Are you concerned only 
to be acclaimed a hero by the mob? A pinchbeck hero! If you 
haven’t the wit to see what must follow, then God help you! 
If you are arrested and brought to trial, there may be con- 
sequences that will inflame a continent. From Georgia to 


TAR AND FEATHERS 105 


Massachusetts, from the Atlantic to the Mississippi, the 
brand of war is ready to the burning. Already it smoulders 
since that affair at Lexington; the least breeze of public feeling 
will fan it into flame. Persist in this mad defiance now, and 
you may plunge your country into civil war. Can you stand 
there and calmly envisage even that so that you may pander 
to your monstrous vanity?’ 

‘No sir, I cannot.’ Mr. Latimer was white and fierce. 

“You'll go?’ cried Moultrie and Laurens together. 

‘Tl stay.’ 

PButwod 

‘If it were, indeed, a question of pandering to my vanity as 
Mr. Rutledge says, I should bow now to your wishes. But it 
is not. 1 am moved by very different motives. To you, Mr. 
Rutledge, I will explain myself no further. Iam weary of your 
demands for explanations, weary of your questionings and 
cross-questionings. That you should ask me to go is enough in 
itself to determine me to stay. I don’t recognize your au- 
thority over me, or your right to subject me to the questions 
and the veiled reproaches with which you have plagued me 
to-day. So I will beg you to spare yourself and me any further 
harangues. But if you will stay, Moultrie, Pll open my mind 
to you, fully and completely. My mind and my heart, for 
both are involved. And if Colonel Laurens cares to remain, 
he is welcome to hear what I shall have to say.’ 

Mr. Rutledge bowed with stiff and formal dignity. ‘Mr. 
Latimer, I will bid you good-night. Colonel Laurens and 
Colonel Moultrie have the tranquillity of the province as 
much at heart as I have.’ He retired in good order. 

Then, when he was gone, at last, Latimer unfolded heart 
and mind, as he had promised, to the two who remained, and 
to Tom Izard also. He showed them how he must now appear 
to Sir Andrew Carey, and how the trial and the trial alone, by 
bringing all to light, might put him right in Sir Andrew’s eyes. 
It moved them strongly into sympathy with him. 


106 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Damn Rutledge!’ swore Moultrie. ‘He has the manners 
of a curmudgeon. But he’s the soul of honesty, Harry, and 
the stanchest patriot in South Carolina, and he has a mind.’ 

‘A mind, perhaps. But little heart. And a mind that is not 
supported by a heart has never achieved greatness for any 
man.’ 

‘It’s no matter for that now, Harry. The fact is that if you 
remain you place not only yourself in danger but the colony 
as well.’ 

‘It doesn’t happen that I agree with you, said Latimer. 
“The Governor will never dare to move in the matter when he 
knows the part played in it by his equerry.’ 

‘But if you should be wrong in your assumption?’ Laurens 
asked him in distress. 

‘If I am wrong, then the explanation is that, in neglecting 
to warn Featherstone, Mandeville was acting under orders 
from Lord William. That I cannot believe. But if it were 
true, Lord William should be more reluctant than ever to 
proceed against me. It may be an attempt to scare me away, 
to raise the very bugbear that you are brandishing. I don’t 
know. But I mean to ascertain, and therefore I remain in 
Charles Town.’ 

The end of it was that Moultrie and aie went off to 
report failure to Rutledge, and to receive in their turn his 
remorseless reprimands for their own lack of firmness. When 
they submitted to him the reasons which Latimer had given 
them, and actually manifested sympathy with those reasons, 
he was more contemptuous than ever, and wondered why he 
should be doomed to work with a party of emotional senti- 
mentalists. 

Rutledge went to bed that night persuaded that the colonies 
stood upon the threshold of civil war. Considering what was 
happening elsewhere in America, the conviction did not de- 
mand much foresight. 


CHAPTER X 
THE MAIL-BAG 


ETIMES on the following morning, Latimer received a 
visit from William Henry Drayton. With him came 
Tom Corbet, a member of the official Secret Committee. 

‘Put a pistol in your pocket, and come with me, Harry,’ 
Drayton invited him. 

You conceive that Mr. Latimer required explanations. He 
was afforded them. 

A week ago a fairly full meeting of the Council of Safety, 
the executive body appointed by the Provincial Congress and 
invested with the fullest powers, had been startled by Dray- 
ton’s proposal that Lord William Campbell should be taken 
into custody. 

This drastic proposal had found support at the hands of 
only two of his colleagues of the committee. The remainder, 
led by Rawlins Lowndes, the Speaker of the Commons, were 
solidly against it. They considered Drayton’s assumptions 
based on insufficient evidence, and they would in no case be 
parties to so provocative a step as he advocated. 

The end of a protracted debate was that further evidence 
should be sought of Lord William’s real disposition. Latimer’s 
subsequent visit to the Governor having added on this sub- 
ject little or nothing to the information gained in the back 
country by Drayton, there remained the course secretly 
sanctioned by the Council of Safety, which was that the 
Governor’s mails should henceforth be subjected to scrutiny. 
Thomas Corbet, mainly because residing upon the Bay, and 
therefore likely to be among the first to perceive the arrival of 
any packet from England, was entrusted with the business. 
And this morning Corbet, espying a new arrival among the 


108 THE CAROLINIAN 


British shipping, had gone in quest of Drayton to help him in 
what was to do. It had been thought well to reinforce them- 
selves by including a third in the undertaking, and Drayton 
had proposed Harry Latimer. 

‘One reason is that you were convenient to our hand, your 
house lying on our way; the other, that it is better to employ 
another man, who, like myself, is already liable to arrest for 
last night’s business than some one against whom there is as 
yet no charge.’ 

‘You mean that, having taken one downward step, it can- 
not greatly matter if I take another,’ Latimer laughed. 

And whilst Latimer with Drayton and Corbet went forth 
upon that further act of treason, Lord William Campbell, 
reduced almost to despair by last night’s event, was listening 
to Mandeville’s insistent counsel that action should be taken 
to avenge the murder of Featherstone. 

Already last night, when first the news of that outrage had 
been conveyed to the Governor by the mob itself, which had 
paraded under his windows, taunting him, and defying him 
with threats to serve his other spies in the same fashion, there 
had been an acrimonious scene between Lord William and his 
masterful equerry. 

Bitterly had Lord William upbraided Mandeville for a lack 
of diligence which’ his lordship suspected to have been de- 
liberate. Calm, correct, and dignified, Mandeville had de- 
fended himself with the assertion that he had gone straight to 
Featherstone’s lodging, that the fellow being absent, he had 
sought him at the Coffee-House in Saint Michael’s Alley, 
which was known to be a favourite resort of his; there he had 
learnt that Featherstone had gone to Goose Creek, and he 
had ridden all the way thither, with a view to preventing him 
from returning into the town. He had missed him by minutes. 

But this morning Lord William had received further details 
of Featherstone’s capture. He had learnt that the fellow had 
been taken in his sister’s house and dragged from her supper- 


SA a a a a, 


THE MAIL-BAG 109 


table, and this fresh information, reawakening his suspicions, 
led him to reopen the matter. 

“How came you to leave no word with Mrs. Grigg?’ 

Mandeville shrugged. ‘It would have been better had I 
done so, certainly. But I saw no reason to alarm the woman 
unnecessarily. I was confident of finding Featherstone, my- 
self.’ 

Lord William looked at him with eyes in which suspicion 
still brooded; and it brooded, too, in the mind of Mr. Innes, 
who was present at the interview in the Governor’s pleasant 
study above the garden. 

A bee sailed in through the open window in the warm air 
that was heavy with the perfume of the magnolias, and for a 
moment the drone of its flight was the only sound in the room. 
Then Mandeville, lounging easily on the Governor’s day-bed, 
spoke again. 

‘What really asks your consideration is the action you are 
now to take.’ 

‘Action?’ quoth Lord William. 

‘Action. You will not allow the deed to remain unpunished.’ 

‘One cannot punish a mob.’ 

‘No. But the mob’s instigator is known. This man 
Latimer...’ 

Lord William interrupted him irritably. 

‘I told you yesterday what our position would be if this 
thing happened. Nothing has occurred to change that. We 
cannot now take proceedings without incurring the risk of a 
riot infinitely more disastrous than last night’s.’ 

‘Yet if you do nothing, there is an end to your authority.’ 

‘My God, man! If only you had got Featherstone away!’ 
He strode to the window, and back again. He took a decision, 
and halted by the writing-table. ‘Innes, please send a line to 
the Speaker of the Commons asking him to be good enough to 
wait upon me.’ Innes bent to the task. ‘At least, I can save 
my face, as Governor Bull did when they raided the armoury. 


IIO THE CAROLINIAN 


The Commons shall appoint a committee to investigate the 
outrage.’ | 

‘That,’ said Mandeville, ‘is mere comedy.’ 

‘It’s the alternative to tragedy, and that I am determined 
to avoid.’ 

But an hour later came news which shook the firmness of 
the Governor’s determination. It was brought by Stevens, 
who kept the post-office. He was white and trembling, be it 
from the scare he had recently undergone, be it from natural 
indignation. He came to report that no sooner had the mail- 
bag from the Swallow reached his office that morning than the 
place had been invaded by three gentlemen of Charles Town 
who had demanded its surrender. Peremptorily he had 
refused, whereupon one of them had clapped a pistol to his 
head, and had held him motionless under the threat of death, 
whilst the other two had appropriated the mail-bag and 
carried it away. Only after their departure had their leader, 
as he was to be supposed from his action, withdrawn the pistol 
and gone his ways again. 

Governor, equerry, and secretary listened appalled to this 
narrative. 

Mandeville, whose wits were less easily distracted from 
essentials than those of Lord William, and who permitted 
himself far less the luxury of indulging his feelings, proceeded 
almost at once to a pertinent inquiry. 

‘Gentlemen?’ he echoed. ‘ Yousaid ‘‘ gentlemen,” Stevens?’ 

‘I did so, your honour.’ 

‘That disposes of any idea of robbery. The thing acquires a 
political significance. Who were these gentlemen, Stevens? 
It’s clear you knew them.’ 

‘Nay, Captain. I name no names!’ cried the fellow in some 
excitement. ‘I’ve no mind to go the way o’ Featherstone.’ 

‘So?’ said Mandeville, and drew a bow at a venture, and 
yet not quite at a venture. ‘Latimer was one of them.’ 

The assertion flung Stevens into terror, ‘I never said so. I 


j 


4 


THE MAIL-BAG III 


never said so.’ He appealed almost wildly to the Governor. 
‘Your excellency, I named no names. You, sir’ — he turned 
to Innes — ‘I take you to witness, sir, that I never said who 
done it.’ 

Mandeville thought his panic said so. And at the same 
time, he reviewed a picture in his memory of Harry Latimer, 
at Fairgrove, drawing a heavy pistol from the pocket of his 
bottle-green riding-coat. So once more he loosed a shaft on 


assumption. 
‘Was Mr. Latimer’s pistol loaded, d’ye suppose?’ 
“To test it might ha’ cost me my life...” Stevens had an- 


swered before he was aware of how much he was really saying. 

‘And the other two? Whowere they?’ asked Lord William. 

‘Don’t ask me, my lord. They were members of the Pro- 
vincial Congress, and it’s before Congress or one of its 
committees the mails has gone.’ 

They pressed him no further. Lord William, indeed, was 
too perturbed, too dismayed by the fact itself, to preoccupy 
himself with the details of it; whilst Mandeville was so 
concerned with his discovery that Latimer was the chief 
actor in the outrage that he cared little who might have been 
the others. 

‘And what are you going to do now?’ Mandeville calmly 
asked his lordship after Stevens had been dismissed. 

“What is there to be done?’ His excellency was reduced 
to a despair which he did not trouble to conceal. 

‘Nothing can be clearer than what should be done. But... 
I await your excellency’s commands.’ And he tapped his 
snuff-box. 

The Governor became peevish. 

‘Oh, damn your assumptions, Mandeville.’ His mind 
swung to what was no more than a side-issue. ‘Anyhow, I 
doubt if the mails they have seized contain any despatches for 
myself. Mine came in by the Cherokee, and there could hardly 
be anything to add to them.’ 


112 THE CAROLINIAN 


Mandeville took snuff, and considered. 

‘Let us hope it isso. But even if it is, it makes the crime of 
tampering with His Majesty’s mails no less grave. It is a 
capital offence here as in England. If you take no action, 
faith, you will lose the respect and support of the few remain- 
ing loyal souls in the colony. You may as well pack and quit, 
for you will have ceased completely to govern.’ 

‘And if I arrest Latimer — which is what you are really 
advising — the same will happen, and something more. I 
shall cease to govern, because I shall be flung out; and I shall 
leave civil war behind me.’ 

‘If Latimer continues free to pursue his rebel activities, 
civil war is assured. That is the other horn of your dilemma. 
You should perceive by now with what manner of man you 
have to deal. A desperate, reckless fellow, a revolutionist, the 
most dangerous man in the province. And every day that he 
continues at liberty he becomes more dangerous, for every 
day he establishes himself more firmly in the favour of the 
people. The thing to be done with him is clear, and there 
should be no delays about it. Put him aboard one of the 
English ships, and send him home to be dealt with.’ 

The Governor stood considering a moment. 

‘If it was impossible yesterday,’ he said slowly, ‘it is, by 
what you have said, yourself, more impossible still to-day.’ 

‘And will be more impossible still to-morrow,’ Mandeville 
countered, ‘when the need for it will be infinitely more acute. 
Hesitation to grasp this nettle has brought your excellency 
into your present difficulty. These scoundrels trade upon 
your scruples. They are cowards that abuse your generosity. 
You have been meek and conciliatory with them ever since 
you arrived. Show them the strong hand for once; show them | 
that you are not to be scared by the bugbear of civil war which 
they dangle before you to cow you into inaction. That fear of — 
yours is the foundation upon which they build. Strike it from 
under them at one blow, and you'll find them tumbling in 


THE MAIL-BAG 113 


dismay. The time for half-measures, for compromising and 
temporizing has gone.’ 

He infected the Governor at last with something of his own 
firmness. For firm Mandeville undoubtedly was and above 
intimidation. 

‘Yes,’ his lordship reluctantly agreed. ‘You are right, 
Mandeville. This man is too dangerous to be left at large in 
Charles Town. If I am to be trampled under the hooves of 
the mob, I may as well be trampled for getting rid of him as 
because he commands the mob to doit. At least I shall have 
done my duty by the State. Innes, if you will prepare a 
warrant for the arrest of Harry Latimer, and have it ready 
for me after breakfast, I will sign it. Mandeville will formu- 
late the charge for you.’ 

Mandeville permitted himself a smile. ‘I congratulate 
your excellency on the decision.’ 

Lord William’s young eyes considered him gloomily. ‘I 
hope there is occasion for it,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘God 
knows!’ And he went at last to breakfast, a meal which he 
always took alone with Lady William in her ladyship’s dainty 
little boudoir on the ground floor immediately underneath 
the study. 

He was preoccupied and uncommunicative throughout the 
meal. His mind, as her ladyship perceived, was far from easy, 
a fact which she naturally attributed to the terrible affair of 
last night. 

She waited patiently for him to unburden himself, too 
wise to attempt to force his confidence. But when breakfast 
_ had come to an end, and still he sat wrapped in his gloomy 
abstraction, she abandoned the ways of pure wisdom, and 
gave the reins to her concern. 

Her questions drew from him the tale of the raid on the 
mails and of the warrant he was to sign in consequence of 
that and other things. It shocked her profoundly. Harry 
Latimer had been her friend — as he had been the friend of all 


114 THE CAROLINIAN 


her brothers and sisters, and particularly of Tom — from 
childhood. Myrtle Carey, too, was her friend. And although | 
she knew, being in Myrtle’s confidence, that there was at 
present a cloud between the lovers, she also believed their 
affection strong enough to dissipate that cloud in the end. 

‘Is it...is it wise, Will?’ she asked. 

‘I hope it is,’ he answered wearily. 

‘Ah! You don’t know?’ 

‘I know only that it is necessary. It is impossible that my 
authority should continue to be flouted and that Latimer 
should be left free to pursue what amounts to a career of 
crime.’ 

‘That sounds like Captain Mandeville,’ she said. ‘Has he 
persuaded you?’ 

Lord William had not the courage to admit it. In his soul 
he was ashamed of the weakness which permitted his equerry 
to dominate him so completely. His answer was an equivoca- 
tion. ‘He tried to persuade me yesterday, and I refused to 
listen to him. To-day, after Featherstone’s terrible end and 
this outrage on the mails, I no longer need persuading.’ 

‘Have you counted the cost?’ she asked him gravely. 

‘IT have counted the cost of not doing it.’ 

‘Do you think there is any court in Carolina would convict 
Harry Latimer at present?’ 

His answer relieved her fears. ‘No. I do not.’ 

‘Then why make yourself ridiculous by arresting him?’ 

‘He is not to be tried in Carolina. He shall go to England 
as by law prescribed for offenders in his class.’ 

The announcement changed her gravity to panic. 

‘Merciful God!’ she ejaculated. ‘Will, you can’t do it!’ 

‘Either that, or I must throw up the governorship and sail 
for England, myself. Charles Town cannot hold Mr. Harry 
Latimer and myself at the same time. That has now been 
clearly demonstrated.’ 

She was still staring at him in utter dismay when her 


THE MAIL-BAG II5 


brother-in-law, Miles Brewton, was announced, and she 
welcomed his advent, persuaded that here was a very valuable 
ally. 

A handsome modish man of middle age, Brewton was 
sincerely attached to Lord William Campbell, notwithstand- 
ing the fact that he, himself, belonged to the patriotic party. 
More than once already had he steered the Governor over 
shoals and evil passages, and Lord William had been glad to 
lean upon him, knowing he was probably as conservative and 
constitutional as any man on his side.’ Because of this and 
because of his genuine affection for Lord William, Mr. Brew- 
ton spared no effort to maintain the popularity of his brother- 
in-law, and it was under his auspices and at his house that the 
ball in honour of the Governor was being organized for to- 
motrow night. 

Her ladyship had at first imagined that this might be the 
occasion of his matutinal visit. But he soon made it clear that 
he was concerned with very different matters, and that he 
desired to be private with Lord William. And when presently 
they sauntered forth together into the garden, her discreet 
ladyship made no attempt to join them. 

She was not destined to be long alone with her thoughts, for 
presently she had another visitor in the person of her brother 
Tom, who brought into the little room with him some of the 
careless, boisterous high spirits with which his large person 
normally abounded. 

He had resolved to spy out the land, and ascertain how 
far Harry might be justified of his estimate of Mandeville’s 
deliberate endeavours to enmesh him. He approached the 
subject with the subtlety of a calf. 

‘What’s this I’m told, Sally, of Harry Latimer’s being 
blamed for what happened to Featherstone?’ 

She looked up from the couch on which she was seated, 
with the window immediately behind her. 

“Where did you hear it?’ 


116 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Where?’ Master Tom was nonplussed. He took refuge in 
the truth. ‘Why, from Harry, himself.’ 

‘And how does he know?’ 

Tom stood over her, large and benign. I came here to ask 
questions, not to be questioned,’ said he. And asked: ‘Is it 
true?’ 

‘I’m afraid it is, Tom.’ She was suddenly inspired. ‘The 
best service you can render Harry is to go to him at once, and 
tell him to leave Charles Town without a moment’s delay. 
Will is signing a warrant for his arrest, both because of the 
Featherstone business and because of his share in the raid on 
the post-office this morning. Hurry to him, Tom.’ 

But Tom showed no disposition whatever to hurry. Instead 
he sat down beside her, and smiled phlegmatically upon the 
sister whom his conduct was alarming. 

‘Not until I’ve seen Will,’ he said. 

‘What can you have to say to Will?’ 

‘For one thing I can tell him to make out a warrant for my 


arrest at the same time. For I was with Harry at the Beef - 


Market last night. All Charles Town knows I was there. And, — 


between ourselves, I was also concerned in the raid on the 
post-office this morning.’ 

‘Are you mad, Tom? Oh, how could you? Have you no 
thought for me?’ Her handsome opulent figure appeared 
visibly to swell with indignation. ‘How could you place me in 
this cruel position!’ 

‘It isn’t you that’s in a cruel position. It’s Will. He’ll have 
to arrest his brother-in-law or change his mind about arresting 
Latimer.’ 

Mr. Tom Izard, you see, was, after all, not entirely without 
subtlety. 


ah 


CHAPTER XI 
STALEMATE 


MONGST them they shattered at least in part the 
Governor’s resolve. For Miles Brewton’s visit, too, was 
concerned with last night’s business and the possible action 
Lord William might feel himself compelled to take in conse- 
quence. He came to impose caution upon his brother-in-law. 
Lord William, an amiable weather-vane to turn obligingly 
with any wind that blew, was already wobbling undecidedly 
when he rejoined his wife, to be faced by Tom Izard’s ulti- 
matum, and to be reminded unpleasantly that Tom’s name 
was also on that list of rebels who had raided the armoury last 
April. 

The distraction of his mind was suddenly pierced by a 
recollection of something that Mandeville had said: ‘Show 
them the strong hand... that you are not to be scared by the 
bugbear of civil war. That fear of yours is the foundation 
upon which they build.’ 

If Mandeville were right, and of this Mandeville had 
persuaded him, then the threat of action should be as effective 
as action itself in ridding him of this pestilent Harry Latimer. 
If only this were achieved one way or another, his difficulties 
would be largely at an end for the present. Upon that he now 
took his resolve, and he announced it to them with some 
firmness. 

‘The warrant cannot be withdrawn. I shall sign it to-day. 
I have no choice. The Governor of South Carolina, with 
evidence before him of acts of robbery and high-treason all in 
one, dare not refuse to take action. But the action shall be 
delayed. I will suspend the execution of the warrant for 
twenty-four... for forty-eight hours. And I shall formally 


118 THE CAROLINIAN 


communicate this to Mr. Latimer to-day. Provided that he 
will leave South Carolina within the time I give him, I shall - 
be content.’ 

‘An act of banishment,’ said Brewton, pursing his lips. 

‘It is the utmost clemency I dare show. More, indeed, than 
I have any right to show. If you are his friend, Tom, and 
mine, you will persuade him to take advantage of it.’ 

The more Lord William considered this solution of the 
riddle, which had come to him with the suddenness of in- 
spiration, the better he liked it. It assumed in his eyes the 
proportions of a diplomatic masterpiece. At a stroke, he 
saved his face, rid the country of a mischief-maker, and gave 
provocation to none. He was uplifted out of his despondency, 
exalted, in fact, when he retraced-his steps to his study, and 
sent for Mandeville. When the equerry came, he found Lord 
William humming the refrain of a song. 

‘The warrant is signed,’ said his lordship airily. ‘But it is 
not to be executed until Friday morning — forty-eight hours 
hence. You are to intimate the same to Mr. Latimer at once.’ 

Mandeville thought him mad, and very nearly said so. His 
lordship explained himself, and Mandeville changed his mind. — 
Almost he admired the nimbleness with which Lord William ~ 
had dodged both horns of his dilemma, and since he could 
desire for himself nothing more than the removal of Mr. 
Latimer, it did not very much matter whether that removal — 
were affected in this way or another. : 

Content, therefore, Captain Mandeville sallied forth, and — 
went on foot down Broad Street and then northward along © 
the wide Bay Street with its bastions and courtine lines above ~ 
the broad expanse of the waters of the Cooper River, here — 
merging into the ocean. At anchor a mile away, beyond most 
of the lesser shipping in the bay, he discovered the black-and- — 
white hull of the sloop Tamar, and reflected that with half a — 
dozen such warships riding there it would be an easy matter — 
to quell the mutinous spirit of these colonial upstarts. Past — 


STALEMATE | 11g 


the crowded busy wharves he went, past the foot of Queen 
Street and on into the quieter region beyond the Custom 
House, where at last he came to the stately mansion of Mr. 
Harry Latimer. 

Julius in his sky-blue livery laced with silver ushered the 
Captain into the library, that he might admire there, whilst 
waiting, the evidences of the culture with which the Lati- 
mers surrounded themselves. 

And he was kept waiting some little time. It is possible 
that this was deliberate on the part of Mr. Latimer. When at 
last the young master of the house made his appearance, he 
came clad in a coat of apricot velvet above black satin smalls 
and black silk stockings. The lace at his throat and wrists was 
finest Mechlin, a diamond of price flashed in his solitaire, and 
buckles of French paste adorned the red-heeled shoes that 
had certainly come all the way from Paris. 

Whilst Julius held the door for him, he bowed gracefully 
from the threshold to his visitor. 

‘I am honoured, Captain Mandeville.’ 

‘Your humble obedient, sir.’ The Captain made a leg in his 
turn. ‘I am sent by his excellency the Governor.’ 

Mr. Latimer advanced. Julius closed the door, and the two 
were alone together. 

‘A chair, sir?’ 

Captain Mandeville sat down. ‘I will come straight to 
business, Mr. Latimer. You have been guilty, if you will 
forgive the liberty of the criticism, of a grave imprudence.’ 

‘Of many, sir, I do assure you.’ Mr. Latimer was airy. 

*T allude to your address last night to the mob in the Beef 
Market as a result of which a man has been done to death.’ 

“You are sure, Captain Mandeville, that it was as a result 
of that?’ 

‘Of what else, then?’ 

‘I have a suspicion that it is of your own deliberate neglect, 
sir, to take advantage of the warning you had at Fairgrove. 


120 _ THE CAROLINIAN 


It was not I who acted as Featherstone’s justiciary, but you 
who acted as his murderer.’ 

‘Sir!’ The Captain was on his feet. 

Blue eyes smiled serenely into dark eyes. Mr. Latimer 
appeared to be mildly amused. | 

‘Do you deny it? To me?’ 

The Captain commanded himself. ‘I am not concerned to 
deny or admit. It is not I who am in danger of being put upon 
my trial.’ 

‘But that may follow,’ said Mr. Latimer. 

Almost the Captain was taken aback. ‘How? What do you 
mean?’ 

‘Oh, but does it matter very much? I am perhaps detaining 
you. And you will have, I take it, some communication to 
make to me?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Mandeville. ‘I think it may be best if we keep 
to that. There is a warrant signed for your arrest, Mr. 
Latimer. If that warrant is executed, you realize what must 
happen to you?’ 

‘If it is executed?’ Mr. Latimer stared at him. ‘It is usual 
to execute warrants, is it not?’ 

The Captain did not choose to deliver a direct answer. ‘In 
this case Lord William has been persuaded to deal leniently — 
with you, and to spare you the full rigour of the law, provided 
that you will submit to the condition he imposes.’ 

‘That will depend upon the condition.’ 

‘His excellency will be satisfied if you will accept a sentence — 
of banishment from South Carolina. He gives you forty-eight — 
hours —a generous measure of time—in which to quit — 
Charles Town. But he desires you to understand quite clearly — 
that if you are still here by ten o’clock on Friday morning the © 
- warrant will be executed and the law will take its course.” 

Mr. Latimer took a turn in the long room, considering his 
reply, but not his course of action. That required no con-— 
sideration. 


STALEMATE 121 


‘Would it be impertinent, Captain Mandeville, or indis- 
creet, to inquire by whom his excellency has been persuaded 
to so much clemency?’ 

‘Chiefly, I believe, by Lady William.’ 

‘Ah!’ Mr. Latimer considered him very searchingly. ‘For 
a moment I almost suspected it might have been yourself.’ 

‘Myself?’ Mandeville stared hard in his turn. ‘On my soul, 
Mr. Latimer, you think too well of me.’ 

‘I was not thinking well of you at all when I thought that. 
Has it occurred to you, Captain Mandeville, that if I am 
brought to trial upon this charge, I shall urge in my own 
defence that I gave full and timely warning — to you and to 
Sir Andrew Carey — of what would happen to Featherstone 
if he were not removed from Charles Town?’ 

“What, then, sir?’ asked the Captain, with the least hint of 
challenge. 

‘You will be required to admit it, and so will Sir Andrew 
Carey, and at need even Miss Carey, who was also present.’ 
Mandeyille’s eyelids flickered. Latimer watching him did not 
fail to observe that single flaw in the man’s iron self-control. 
“You will all three be upon oath, and it is not to be supposed 
that all three of you will commit perjury.’ 

‘Where is the need? Such a statement will but further 
incriminate you.’ 

‘No, sir. It will incriminate you, and of a singularly heinous 
and atrocious deed. Why did you not take steps to save 
Featherstone? Why did you not even warn him? That you 
did not is clear from the manner in which he was taken — 
peacefully at supper with his sister and her family. You will 
be required to answer that question, and all the other ques- 
tions, all the abominable implications arising out of it.’ Mr. 
Latimer uttered a short laugh. ‘You deliberately sacrificed 
Featherstone, your spy, your own man, that you might weave 
a rope for my neck.’ He came a step nearer, and smiled a little 
grimly into the soldier’s set face. ‘Are you quite sure, Captain 


122 THE CAROLINIAN 


Mandeville, that you have not woven one for your own? Do 
you doubt that when your conduct is made clear, yours will 
be the fate of Featherstone himself? That there will be tar 
and feathers for you, as there were for him? Can you really 
doubt it?’ 

Mandeville fell back a step. He had changed colour at last, 
and his eyes looked darker than ever in the pallor of his face. 

‘Your questions are impertinent, Mr. Latimer.’ He 
changed his tone to one of utter formality. ‘I have had the 
honour to deliver the message with which I am charged by 
his excellency. I shall be happy to bear him your answer.’ 

‘You have it, Captain Mandeville. Tell him that he need 
not hold his hand until Friday morning. That I have no 
intention of obeying his decree of banishment, and that here 
in Charles Town I remain, for the pleasure of seeing you 
taken in your own dirty springe.’ 

‘Mr. Latimer!’ Mandeville’s self-control gave out. ‘By 
God! You shall meet me for this.’ 

‘It is what I am suggesting.’ Mr. Latimer smiled sardoni- 
cally. ‘I shall certainly meet you. In the court-house. But 
nowhere else, Captain Mandeville.’ And he pulled the bell- 
rope. 

Mandeville looked at him a moment, dark fury in his eyes. 
Then he turned, and strode to the door. On the threshold he 
halted again. Only the truth and his apprehension of the 
truth could have moved him to such a pitch of anger. He was 
caught, and he knew Latimer had proved too astute. He had 
discerned the vulnerable Achilles’ heel, of which Mandeville 
himself had been unconscious. And so the Captain now 
thanked Heaven from his heart that Lord William should 
not have listened to him when he had urged the immediate 
arrest of Latimer. That arrest he was now as anxious to 
avoid as Lord William himself. At all costs Latimer must 
be driven off, scared away. ‘Therefore, at the door, he played 
his last card. 


STALEMATE 123 


‘Mr. Latimer, it is only fair to warn you that you build on 
sand. The consummation you imagine might follow if you 
were to be tried here in Charles Town. But if you are arrested, 
you will be taken to England for trial as the law requires in 
the case of men charged with such an offence as yours.’ 

For an instant that gave Latimer pause. But only for an 
instant until his mind had surveyed the thing. 

‘Captain Mandeville, I do not believe that Lord William 
would perpetrate any such rashness. The law you invoke is 
one of the grievances that have caused the disturbances in 
these colonies. If you dared in the present state of things to 
attempt to enforce it, you would provoke an explosion that 
would shatter you all to pieces. You say this to scare me. 
But even if it were as you say, I should apprehend as little as 
I do from trial here. There is justice in England. The English 
are just, and they are none too sympathetic with a govern- 
ment that is endeavouring to curtail the liberties of English- 
men overseas. Whatever might happen to me, be sure that 
you would fare none too well at the hands of an English 
court, Captain Mandeville. And that, I think, is all I have to 
say to you.’ 


CHAPTER XII 
REVELATION 


OWARDS noon of that same Wednesday, a vast 

lumbering mahogany coach, with a coat of arms on the 
panel, and two liveried negroes maintaining themselves on 
the platform behind by their grip of a couple of broad straps, 
made its way down the comparatively narrow Tradd Street, 
and drew up at the door of Sir Andrew Carey’s town house. 
The coach contained Sir Andrew and his daughter. It was 
followed by a second one, almost as large, but of leather 
stretched over a wooden frame, and of more antiquated 
design. This contained Remus the butler, Abraham the 
valet, Miss Carey’s mauma Dido, and a prodigious quantity 
of luggage. 

Thus, more or less in state, Sir Andrew reéntered Charles 
Town, coming, as we know, to lend by his loyal presence 
‘ support to the King’s representative in these seditious times. 

Within a half-hour of his arrival, almost before the holland 
covers had been taken from the furniture, he was waited on 
by Captain Mandeville. 

The equerry came spurred by panic. He realized that 
he had overreached himself. Lord William had definitely 
committed himself to a threat, and retreat was impossible. 


Wherefore, upon quitting Latimer, Mandeville had gone ~ 


straight to Colonel Laurens with whom he had found John 
Rutledge. 


Knowing their temperate views, their ardent desire for — 


conciliation, their horror of anything that might precipitate a — 


crisis destructive of all hope, he sought them in some confi- © 


dence. He left them in despair. 
Rutledge had summed up the brief discussion. 


> 


REVELATION 125 


‘We honour Lord William for his forbearance, and for this 
forty-eight hours’ grace. It is far more than we have any 
right to expect from him, and we are deeply sensible of the 
motives which inspire him. Inspired by the same desire to 
maintain peace, we will use with Mr. Latimer what influence 
we have. But neither Colonel Laurens nor myself can be de- 
luded by any hope of success. What you suggest that we 
should do, we have already done. Already, last night, before 
there was any question of a warrant, we urged Mr. Latimer 
to depart at once. He was obdurate and obstinate in his 
resolve to remain.’ 

Laurens, who had received Latimer’s reasons at first hand, 
was even more chilling to Captain Mandeville. 

‘He is rooted in the persuasion that Lord William will not 
dare to proceed against him.’ 

‘That he is wrong there, you should now be able to demon- 
strate,’ said Mandeville. ‘His lordship has signed the warrant, 
and he must perform as he threatens or his authority is at an 
end and he renders himself ridiculous.’ 

‘We shall not omit to employ that argument. But for my- 
self I have little hope that it will move Mr. Latimer.’ He 
sighed, and shook his great head. ‘I wish I could think other- 
wise.’ 

So Captain Mandeville took his leave, already persuaded 
that from this quarter, despite obvious good-will, nothing 
was to be expected. Gloomily he took his way to Tradd Street 
to ascertain if Sir Andrew had yet reached town. If Carey 
failed him, he would have to study his position carefully. He 
might force a personal quarrel upon Latimer, and chance the 
issue. But he could not chance the effect of it upon Myrtle. 
If he were to be so fortunate as to kill Latimer in a duel, he 
would, he knew — and the knowledge intensified the bitter- 
ness of his feelings — set up between himself and Myrtle a 
barrier which perhaps no subsequent patience could ever 
overcome. 


126 THE CAROLINIAN 


That Sir Andrew would fail him seemed foreshadowed by 
the Baronet’s greeting. 

‘So that damned scoundrel had his way with poor Feather- 
stone in spite of all that you could do! I’ll never, never for- | 
give him.’ 

The words were simple enough. But the emphasis with 
which he uttered them supplied anything they may have 
lacked to express the full tale of his indignation and bitter- 
ness. 

Mandeville was gently remonstrant. ‘Sir Andrew, I un- 
derstand your feelings. But it is necessary to be just.’ 

‘That is what I intend to be. Just! And I'll see justice 
done on him for this. His black ingratitude, his loathsome 
treachery shall be brought home to him.’ 

‘And yet you must not forget that he came to Fairgrove 
yesterday to warn you, so that Featherstone might be re- 
moved in time...’ 

‘Did he?’ Sir Andrew interrupted him. ‘Have you for- 
gotten that we have his own admission that he came to spy, 
to obtain from us a confirmation of his suspicions. God in 
Heaven! The blackguard has made us parties in his deed of 
murder.’ 

‘No, no, Sir Andrew.’ The Captain heard the door open 
behind him. But he went on without heeding it. ‘I am as 
much to blame as any man for what has happened. It was 
two full hours after my return to Charles Town before the 
mob moved to take Featherstone. If only I had not blundered, 
Featherstone could easily have been saved, as I honestly 
believe that Latimer intended. In judging him, Sir Andrew, 
you must lose sight of nothing that may tell in his favour.’ 

He turned to face Myrtle, who had entered the room. She 
came forward now, a flush of excitement on her cheeks, her 
eyes bright. 

‘I am glad to hear you say that, Robert,’ she approved him, 
as he stooped to kiss her fingers. ‘It is what I, myself, have 


REVELATION 127 


been telling father. But he is blinded by his anger and his 
grief.’ 

‘Blinded, madam!’ the Baronet retorted hotly. ‘I am 
seeing clearly for the first time in my life, I think. And I am 
perceiving what manner of black-hearted villain I took to be 
as a son to me.’ 

‘Sir Andrew, listen to me a moment,’ Mandeville begged. 
‘Sit down, and listen quietly.’ And calmly he proceeded to 
expound the situation. ‘The warrant is signed, and unless he 
is gone from Charles Town by Friday morning, it will be 
executed.’ 

But there Sir Andrew interrupted him. ‘Why not until 
Friday? Why not at once? Why is this traitor and murderer 
to be given the chance to escape?’ 

‘Lord William has been so persuaded.’ 

“Who has persuaded him? Who?’ And as Mandeville did 
not immediately answer him, he stared hard at the Captain. 
*You did, Robert. You did. But will you tell me why?’ 

The Captain sighed. ‘There were two excellent reasons. 
The first is your own affection for him...’ 

‘I have told you it is dead. And I’ll prove it at need. Iam 
ready to give evidence that will help to hang him.’ 

‘To hang him!’ cried Myrtle, and the flush of excitement 
perished from her cheeks. 

Both men looked at her. But it was Mandeville who 
answered: ‘That is what will happen, Myrtle, if he remains 
here to await arrest. He will be sent to England for trial, and 
it is not to be imagined that any mercy will be shown him.’ 

“He should have the mercy he showed Featherstone. More 
than that is shown him already in this quixotic delay...’ 

‘Sir Andrew,’ Mandeville cut in, ‘are you quite sure that 
you do not deceive yourself? Are you quite sure that under- 
neath your present indignation, the old love you bore him is 
not alive and vigorous, and that his death will presently prove 
to you a deep and bitter grief? You are the one man who 


128 THE CAROLINIAN 


might be able to save him. When I have told you that, can 
you be sure that hereafter you will be troubled by no remorse 
for having left him to his doom?’ 

‘I shall be troubled by remorse if he escapes,’ was the fierce 
answer. ‘I am not the man to blow hot and cold, Robert. I 
know my mind.’ 

‘There is yet another point of view to be considered,’ said 
the Captain. And, compelled to it, he now expounded the 
terrible consequences, the almost certain danger of open re- 
bellion that must attend the arrest of Latimer. It moved Sir 
Andrew no more than the other reason. 

‘Let it come,’ he said. ‘A little blood-letting is what is 
needed to make this colony healthy.’ 

‘But it will be the wrong blood,’ the Captain argued. 

‘Surely, man, the Governor isn’t powerless? There is a 
garrison at Fort Johnson.’ 

‘Less than a hundred men. If we were to bring them up, 
that would be the signal for the provincial militia to fall in on ~ 
the other side. And then what would happen?’ 

‘That which sooner or later must happen. Myself, I care 
not how soon. I want the air clearing of these poisonous mists. 
The Royal Government has been too gentle, too timorous. 
Let it assert itself at last. There are enough loyal gentlemen 
in Charles Town to make a stand against this seditious rabble.’ 

But the Captain shook his head. ‘I don’t share your 
optimism, Sir Andrew. Until the troops arrive, we dare not 
provoke a conflict.’ 

Sir Andrew heaved himself up in a frenzy of npAtieeeed 
‘But what in any case could I do?’ he asked. 

‘Urge Mr. Latimer to avail himself of the Governor’s 
clemency.’ 

‘I?’ Sir Andrew placed his hands upon his breast, and 
arched his eyebrows in amazement. ‘I urge him? My God, 
you don’t know what you’re asking, or else you don’t know 
me. [ll urge him to hang himself,’ 


REVELATION 129 


‘Oh, father, father!’ Myrtle put an arm about his neck. 
‘Think what Harry has been to you. Think what he might be 
again, if you tried gentleness...’ 

‘Gentleness? With a damned rebel? With a murderer?’ 

‘Don’t call him that, father. It isn’t true. And in your 
heart you know it isn’t.’ 

‘Didn’t he set the mob on last night to murder Gabriel?’ 

‘Was that like Harry? He must have been convinced that 
Mr. Featherstone had been warned by Robert and had got 
away. He would never have done it else.’ 

‘He would never have done it in such a case, you mean. 
What purpose could there be in sending a mob to raid an 
empty nest?’ 

‘I don’t know. But I am sure that Harry will be able to 
explain.’ 

‘It is possible,’ Mandeville suggested, ‘indeed, probable, 
that he simply obeyed the orders of his committee.’ 

‘But why, if he thought the man had gone?’ 

‘Because he dared not tell them that. He dared not admit 
that he had been guilty of this breach of faith to those who 
sent him to Lord William. So he played out that comedy, 
little thinking how it would turn to tragedy.’ 

‘That’s it! That’s it!’ cried Myrtle, and her eyes thanked 
her cousin. ‘What else would have been possible where Harry 
is concerned? You know that he is generous, warm-hearted, 
impulsive. This would have been the act of a wicked man, 
and Harry isn’t wicked, father. You know that.’ 

‘Do I?’ He laughed his contempt of her plea. Then he 
shook her off, and went striding away across the room, as if 
to relieve his feelings by action. ‘By God! It’s droll to have 
you two here pleading to me for Harry Latimer. And, by God! 
you waste your pains. Nota finger will I lift to save him from 
the rope he has earned himself! But my two hands are ready 
to help to hang him. If my evidence is wanted on what passed 
yesterday at Fairgrove, it is at the Governor’s disposal.’ 


130 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Sir Andrew!’ Mandeville appealed to him. 

‘Not another word on that subject, Robert. If you have 
nothing else to say to me, I’ll beg you to excuse me. My 
steward is waiting for his orders.’ 

And he stamped out of the room in dudgeon. 

Mandeville looked at Miss Carey with eyes that were full of 
regret. 

‘And so my last hope fails,’ he said, which was the literal 
truth. 

She came to him and placed her two hands upon his arm. 

‘It was noble of you to try. Just as it was noble of you to 
persuade Lord William to give Harry these two days’ grace. 
I shall never forget it, Robert. Never!’ 

‘You mean that you’ll remember my failure,’ said he, with 
a queer smile. 

‘No, Robert. Your generosity. Oh, but is there nothing we 
can do?’ 

‘Nothing, I fear, in view of Mr. Latimer’s own obstinacy. I 
have done all I could. Perhaps it would have been better had 
I not gone myself, in the first instance. Mr. Latimer does not 
trust me.’ 

‘Doesn’t trust you? You?’ 

Mandeville shrugged. He was the big-hearted, tolerant 
fellow who forgives all, because he understands all. ‘What 
cause has he to trust me? In his place I should do the same.’ 

When presently he took his leave, he left her more pro- 
foundly impressed than ever with his nobility and sterling 
worth. But he did not leave her considering those virtues of 
his. 

One single fact bulked so largely in her mind that it 
permitted her to see nothing else at the same time. She was 
terrified, and out of that terror came presently a better under- 
standing of herself than she had lately possessed. It had been 
necessary that the shadow of the gallows should fall upon her 
lover to make her fully realize that he was her lover still, her 


REVELATION 13 


man, and that all the rest was vanity. What mattered his 
political opinions? What did it matter if he outraged the 
political religion in which she had been reared? What were 
politics to her, what was the King to her, by comparison with 
him? Something of the kind had stirred in her yesterday, 
when she had seen him abused and beset. But that had been 
a flash, a glimpse; no more. This was a flood of revelation. 
He was in danger of his life; in danger of ignominious death. 
The very thought almost stopped her breathing. He was her 
man, and if he died, if they killed him, hanged him, what 
would be left for her, what would become of her? She was 
answered by the memory of a line out of a forgotten play, 
a memory that arose impishly, mockingly, fiendishly. She 
would lead apes in hell. 

She thought of the letters she had written to him when he 
was away, and how she had sent him back their betrothal 
ring. She saw it now as an act of vanity, stupid, silly, de- 
testable. What did she know of these questions that were 
agitating the country so violently? Harry was not alone in 
his ways of thought. There were men of honour and position 
in the province — such men as Colonel Laurens and Arthur 
Middleton, Mr. Izard, who was Lord William’s own father- 
in-law, and a score of others whom once her father had 
esteemed as friends, and whom now he no longer admitted 
to his house, because their ways of thought were not his 
own. 

Thus, love and fear so wrought upon her jointly in that 
hour that for the first time in her life a doubt of her father’s 
opinions entered her mind. It is thus, abruptly and in mo- 
ments of crisis, that conversions and apostasies take place. 

And so it came about that in the early hours of that same 
afternoon, a sedan chair carried by two negro bearers in Sir 
Andrew Carey’s liveries passed along the wharves, and swung 
through the gates of Mr. Latimer’s residence, to set down 
Miss Carey before the young rebel’s door. 


132 THE CAROLINIAN 


It was an outrage upon the proprieties. But proprieties had 
come to matter as little as political convictions. 

Julius, a little confused by her appearance, conducted her 
across the wide hall, straight to the library where Mr. 
Latimer was brooding. For Colonel Laurens and John 
Rutledge had but lately left him after a protracted and rather 
stormy scene at the end of which the young man had re- 
mained as defiant as at the beginning. 

He leapt up in amazement as she entered, and in amaze- 
ment stared at her across the room. 

‘Harry!’ she held out her hands to him, pleadingly, almost 
piteously. 

He advanced to her. 

‘Myrtle!’ There was only wonder in his voice, and his 
next question was to explain the source of it. ‘You are 
alone?’ 

She nodded, then loosened and threw back her calash. 

‘But is this discreet?’ he asked. He was about to add — 
‘especially since we are no longer even betrothed.’ But he 
left that thought unuttered. 

‘Ts it a time for discretion? Harry! What are you going to 
do?’ 

So that was it. He might have guessed it, he told himself. 
Here was another of Captain Mandeville’s emissaries — for 
Laurens had admitted himself to be almost that — and he 
was to go through another scene perhaps more painful than 
the last. 

‘I won’t affect to misunderstand you,’ he said gravely. ‘I 
am going to do nothing.’ 

‘But, Harry! You can’t know...’ 

‘I know all, and I am prepared for everything.’ And then 
he added: ‘Has Captain Mandeville sent you to persuade me 
to leave Charles Town, in case Colonel Laurens should have 
failed?’ 

‘He has not.’ 


ES SE ean an hig Bo 


Geet arin: 


REVELATION 133 


‘You surprise me. But no doubt he told you of my position, 
and hopes that you would come to reason with me.’ 

‘He told me — yes — father and me. But he was very far 
from suggesting that I should come to you. What do you 
mean, Harry?’ 

His manner began to intrigue her. It wasso aloof, so differ- 
ent from all that she had expected. 

‘You have, of course, become... attached to this kinsman 
from England who has descended upon Charles Town during 
my absence?’ 

‘Robert has been very good, very kind. I... we are very 
fond of him.’ 

He smiled, not quite pleasantly. ‘I have been afforded 
occasion to observe that for myself,’ he said. 

She liked neither the smile nor the tone. ‘And he has been 
a very good friend to you, Harry,’ she asserted. 

“To me?’ He expressed amazement in his stare, and 
finally in a laugh. ‘Oh! My dear friend Mandeville, how I 
have misjudged you! I should have known it was friendship 
for me sent him carrying tales to your father of my associa- 
tion with the Sons of Liberty.’ 

‘Harry! How can you? It’s not worthy of you. He carried 
no tales. He told father, so that father might reason with you, 
might rescue you before it was too late, before you got into 
_ the position of danger in which you now are.’ 

‘And in which your Captain Mandeville has been careful to 
place me.’ 

‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’ 

‘Don’t I? Listen to me a moment. It is as well that you 
should know this man. Captain Mandeville desired to ac- 
complish two things: the first was to drive me out of your 
father’s house; the second, to drive me out of Charles Town. 
I embarrass the gallant captain by my presence. But I am 
also so accommodating as to afford him the means of disposing 
of me. His first wish was easily fulfilled. You saw it done.’ 


134 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Harry!’ She was angrily reproachful. ‘This is infamous!’ 

‘I quite agree with you. But wait until I have made all 
clear. To drive me out of Charles Town is not quite so easy. 
It asks more ingenuity. I am so unfortunate as to supply the 
opportunity, and to make quite sure of me, Captain Mande- 
ville does not hesitate to leave a wretched creature of his own 
to be done to death.’ 

To dissipate her indignant disbelief, he advanced his 
arguments. But it was without avail. 

‘You are not mad enough, wicked enough to say that of 
Captain Mandeville?’ 

‘It sounds fantastic, I confess. But not when you have 
weighed the circumstances.’ 

‘See how your malice blinds you!’ she cried. ‘It was 
Captain Mandeville who prevailed upon Lord William to 
stay the execution of the warrant for your arrest.’ 

‘He will say so to you, of course.’ 

‘Do you doubt his word? Perhaps you won’t believe me 
when I tell you that he came to plead for you with my father? 
To urge my father to persuade you to leave Charles Town 
before the expiry of the respite he has obtained for you?’ 

“That I can well believe, since I have shown him how un- 
pleasant may be the consequences for himself if I am brought 
to trial. I find the situation interesting, and I don’t mean to 
miss the remainder of the entertainment by running away.’ 
And then, abruptly, he changed his tone, as a man tosses aside 
an instrument whose use is at an end. ‘But I am very glad 
you came, Myrtle; glad to think that in spite of all that 
has happened, you still have some feeling, some concern 
for me.’ 

That disarmed the anger kindled in her by his sneers at 
Mandeville. She came up to him, and set her hands on his 
shoulders, looking up into his face. ‘Harry! Harry, you 
mustn’t remain. You mustn’t! You must go, Harry. You 
must leave Charles Town.’ 


REVELATION 135 


He looked at her, and as he looked there came into his face 
that expression of sedate amusement, which at times could 
be so irritating. 

‘And leave a clear field to your new lover? Believe me, 
there is not the need. I am not one to prove importunate.’ 

She recoiled as if he had struck her. 

‘My new lover?’ she echoed. 

‘This dear Robert, this gallant gentleman who serves his 
King so nobly, who was no doubt the first to show you that 
you could not possibly marry so wicked and abandoned a 
fellow as a rebel. This dear Robert who may one day make 
you ‘“‘my lady.” Oh, why not be frank and open with me, 
Myrtle?’ 

‘Frank and open!’ She was wild now with anger. It 
whipped the colour to her cheeks and lent a dangerous sparkle 
to her eyes. ‘How dare you... You insult me! How dare 
you suggest that I have ever been anything else!’ 

‘Have you not? Oh, Myrtle! Myrtle! Why make pretence 
with me?’ 

‘Pretence?’ Her voice shrilled up. ‘I came to tell you...’ 
She checked. ‘No matter what I came to tell you. Thank 
God, I didn’t. You have shown me what you are worth.’ 

‘But not quite all I know; not quite all that justifies 
me.’ 

That brought her up, even as she was turning to depart. 
She looked at him over her shoulder, scorn and anger stamped 
upon her little face. 

‘Listen a moment, and judge for yourself if I am still to be 
deceived. Yesterday when I came to Fairgrove, and after I 
had made my escape, I waited among the trees by the avenue 
for the chance of a word with you. In my wretchedness, in 
my dejection, I would have given all I had to have made 
Matters whole between you and me. Perhaps if nothing else 
would have moved you — God knows — such was my need 
_of you that I might have thrown my very principles to the 


136 THE CAROLINIAN 


winds, and been false to my beliefs. I wanted to beg you to 
take back the letters that you wrote me, to forget all that, 
and to accept again my ring.’ 

She was facing him once more; the scorn had passed slowly © 
from her face, and wonder was breaking on it. He paused now, 
and, breathlessly delivered, her question filled the pause. 

‘Why didn’t you?’ | 

‘Do you ask?’ His voice, his eyes, were wistful. ‘Do you 
remember nothing — in that avenue, yesterday? Whilst I 
waited there you came by in company with Mandeville, his 
arm about your shoulders, your face alight...’ 

‘Harry!’ There was indignant protest in the cry. She took 
a step towards him, to check him. But he went on. 

‘Then I understood, indeed, what had happened in my 
absence, why your letters had been so mercilessly uncompro- 
mising, how you must have welcomed the pretext I gave you 
for writing them.’ 

‘Harry! Oh, Harry! To think that of me! Of me!’ 

He looked at her, and almost smiled. 

“You'll tell me that my eyes deceived me...’ 

‘No, no. But that was...nothing. Nothing!’ 

‘Nothing! A man walks with you in a half-embrace, and 
it is nothing!’ 

‘But he’s my cousin!’ she cried desperately, and thereby | 
provoked only his scorn. 

“Your cousin! Some thirty times removed at least; and 
two months ago you were not even aware of his existence. 
Yet on the strength of his kinship he drops from the clouds 
into the family lap. He is taken to your bosom — literally.’ 

She controlled herself by an effort. She was white to the 
lips. She was very angry with him, and yet through all her 
anger beat the understanding that he sinned against her in — 
thought because he loved her and was insensately jealous. 
Therefore, she must have patience with him. At all costs she © 
must disabuse his mind. 


REVELATION 137 


‘Harry, will you listen to me?’ she asked, and her voice 
was quiet, though her bosom raced. 

He bowed, still with a tinge of irony. 

‘I came here, Harry, to persuade you to go away. I came 
because... because I, too, wanted to say to you the things 
you wanted to say to me when you waited among the trees 
at Fairgrove. As ready to-day to make sacrifice to you of my 
beliefs, as you say that you were ready to sacrifice them to 
me yesterday.’ 

‘Myrtle!’ His heart almost stood still. One half of his mind 
believed; the other laughed in scorn. 

‘Now do you believe that... that what you saw was... 
not what you thought it? I, too, was miserable and dejected. 
I had been unhappy ever since I had sent you back your 
ring. And your awful scene with father almost drove me mad. 
Robert was kind. He is kind, Harry, whatever you may say 
or think. He comforted me, and I stood so much in need of 
comforting, I felt so lonely and desolate, that if Remus had 
put an arm round me in friendship, I should have been glad 
of it. Harry, that is the truth. All of it. You do believe 
me!’ 

He took her in his arms. 

‘My dear! My dear!’ He kissed the brown head that lay 
against his shoulder, and her tears flowed, to relieve a sur- 
charged heart. 

“You believe, Harry?’ she said again. 

‘I believe you, dear,’ he answered her, and lied, for he was 
still struggling to believe. He wanted to believe, wanted 
desperately to believe. Because he was aware of this want, 
he was the more mistrustful, and ever at the back of his mind 
was that cursed picture — the scarlet, gold-laced arm about 
the lilac shoulders, the woman’s face upturned to the man’s 
bowed head. 

She looked up. ‘Harry, my dear! I have suffered so!’ The 
stains of tears on that white face melted him completely. He 


138 THE CAROLINIAN 


bent down to kiss her, drawing her closer still. She sighed in 
his arms. She smiled at him, half-shyly, full tenderly. The 
vision of herself and Mandeville in the dappled sunshine of 
the avenue was at last extinguished. 


‘And now, Harry’ — her tone was. coaxing — ‘you'll go — 


away. You'll go away at once.’ 

Through his brain crackled the laughter of the imp of 
jealousy. Back surged that cursed vision, and with it came 
a memory of words spoken once by Tom Izard in an excess 
of bitterness. ‘Women! The truth isn’t inthem. They’ll 
wheedle and coax and lie to gain their ends, until I believe 
they deceive themselves as well as their victims.’ 

He loosed his hold of her abruptly, and stepped heen 

‘So we come back to that!’ He was sneering. ‘When we 
find the straight road closed, faith, there is always a way 
round. I might have guessed your aims.’ 


‘Harry!’ She was affronted, wounded. ‘Harry! Do you ~ 


..can you still doubt me? — After what I’ve said.’ 
‘No,’ he said, and it was like a blow. ‘I don’t doubt you at 
all.’ 


They stood considering each other in silence after that — 


whilst you might have counted ten, both faces bloodless. 


Then, still without speaking, she turned and made for the © 


door, mechanically pulling her calash over her head as she 
went. 

He sprang ahead of her. ‘Myrtle!’ 

‘The door, if you please,’ she said. 

He opened it, and let her go. Julius was waiting in the hall. 

He closed the door after her, and stood a moment leaning 
against it. 

Then, slowly, with bowed head, he crossed the room, and 
flung himself into a chair. He topk his chin in his paisa and 
stared before him like a sightless man, seeking relief in 
thought, but finding in thought only sharper and ever 
sharper torture. 


| 
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CHAPTER XIII 
DEA EX MACHINA 


REALLY believe,’ wrote Lady William Campbell in her 

diary, ‘that but for me,my poor Myrtle would have ended 
by marrying Robert Mandeville, than which I could desire 
my worst enemy no sadder end.’ And, since I am quoting her 
ladyship, I may as well add this view of Mandeville, which 
immediately follows. ‘Mandeville is a monotheist, worship- 
ping one only god, and that god is Mandeville. He requires 
not so much a wife as a priestess.’ 

It is impossible in reading these diaries to escape the 
irresistible attraction of her ladyship’s personality. You 
perceive her, in these even lines of small, well-formed charac-~ 
ters, far more vividly than in the portrait which Copley 
painted of her a few months after her marriage. On his canvas 
you behold this boldly handsome woman, between fair and 
dark, with the generous mouth, the self-assured glance, and 
the majestic carriage; and you gather something of her 
physical and mental force. But it is only the diaries that 
afford a complete revelation of her vigorous, uncompromising 
nature, the strength she could bring to her friendships and 
her enmities, her audacities of thought and action, her humour 
and her charm. 

As she speaks to us with such complete self-revelation 
across the gap of a century and a half, I feel that she is a 
woman [ should like to have known and yet by whom I am 
sure that I should have been overawed. 

Without her intervention in the affairs of Myrtle Carey, it 
is, indeed, probable that Myrtle’s story would never have 
been worth the telling, and a beneficent deity it must have 
been that inspired Myrtle — in her craving for sympathy and 
comfort — to seek her ladyship’s assistance. 


140 THE CAROLINIAN 


It was done upon the impulse of the moment. The anger 
in which she had quitted Harry had by now been whelmed 
again in sorrow and in anxieties on his behalf. To excuse him 
there was ever the reflection that his harsh intransigence was 
the result of jealousy, that sour fruit of the tree of love. But 
in a measure, as she excused him, her own trouble grew, and 
the need for relief, for sympathy, for help, and practical 
guidance grew with it. In other circumstances she would 
have sought her father, although tenderness was not a natural 
quality with him. But in her present difficulties her father 
was the last person whose aid was to be invoked. And then as 
her chair, on its way up Tradd Street, was being borne past 
the corner of Meeting Street, she bethought her of her old 
friend Sally Izard. The very thought of Sally warmed her, 
and would have done so even had Sally not been the viceregal, 
and therefore all-commanding, person that she was. 


She gave fresh orders to her chairmen, and obediently they ~ 


swung to the left into Meeting Street, to set her down at Lady 
William’s door. 

The news she brought of Harry’s obstinate refusal to leave 
Charles Town placed Lady William fully as much in need of 
Myrtle as Myrtle was in need of her ladyship. 

The alarm evinced by Lady William and her brother, who 
happened to be still with her, was more than Myrtle could 
understand until Tom had made it abundantly clear. 

Both announced that they would see Harry at once. There 
was a world of promise in her ladyship’s tone, a world of self- 
reproach in Tom’s for having so long delayed that duty. 

‘It will be useless,’ Myrtle told them with conviction. 
‘Useless! Harry is persuaded that the whole thing is a plot of 
Captain Mandeville’s to get rid of him.’ 

‘And I believe the same, myself,’ said Tom, regarding 
Myrtle with eyes of chill reproof. 

Her ladyship, already on her way to the bell-rope, to ring 


for her carriage, checked and turned to stare from one to the 


other of them. 


ne Saye", 


i 
+ 


DEA EX MACHINA I4I 


She remembered suddenly that if, from what she knew of 
it, the situation had not actually been engineered by Cap- 
tain Mandeville, at least he had neglected to do the one thing 
that might have averted it. 

‘Why should you say that?’ She addressed the question 
to her brother. 

‘Because in Harry’s place I should have every reason to 
think the same,’ said Tom, and turned away. 

Her ladyship understood. She came back to stand over the 
settle on which Myrtle was sitting. ‘What reason has Harry 
for thinking this?’ she asked. ‘If I am to help you, Myrtle, 
you must tell me.’ 

And Myrtle told her. At the end, reviewing Harry’s hard- 
ness, Myrtle’s indignation rose again. She was expressing it 
when her ladyship checked her. 

‘Why, what else is the poor man to think, Myrtle? He has 
your letters giving him his dismissal because you don’t agree 
with his political views. He is distressed. But he doesn’t 
despair because he knows, if he knows anything, that political 
obstacles are no great matter where there is love. There’s no 
lack of tales like Romeo and Juliet to prove it, my dear. So 
he comes back to reason with you, and with his own eyes sees 
you in the arms of Captain Mandeville.’ 

‘Sally!’ Myrtle turned upon her, flushing scarlet. ‘Not in 
his arms. I have told you the truth.’ 

‘That you were only half in hisarms? But jealousy always 
magnifies a lover’s vision, and in the eyes of Mr. Latimer you 
will have appeared entirely in the arms of the gallant captain. 
What is the poor man to think? Exactly what he told you. 
That in his absence your affections had changed, and that you 
had seized upon his political convictions as a pretext for 
breaking with him.’ 

‘Sally!’ And Myrtle was seized with sudden horror. ‘You 
don’t believe that, too?’ 

‘Not I. But, then, I’m a woman. Man, my dear, is a 


142 THE CAROLINIAN 


logical animal. He reasons from evidence. And that’s the 
source of all human error. Harry’s reasoning is faultless. It’s 
his intuitions that are deplorable.’ 

‘But, Sally, what am I to do? He will not move. He will 
remain in defiance of the warrant. And if he remains...’ She 
shuddered, and uttered a little moan, a picture of the gallows 
arising in her mind. 

‘I know, I know, dear.’ Myrtle was drawn to her ladyship’s 
splendid bosom. ‘We must devise some way.’ 

Her ladyship’s mind worked briskly, spurred by a necessity 
which touched herself —through her husband and her 
brother. At all costs Latimer must be sent packing, or a 
situation of peril would arise, a conflagration which must con- 
sume those she loved best. 

‘Can you think of nothing, Tom?’ she asked her brother. 
“You see how necessary it is that he should go— how 
necessary it is, not only for himself, but for all of us? Could 
you persuade him, do you think?’ 

‘I?’ Tom was moved to sarcasm, and out of his sarcasm 
pointed the way. ‘Yes, if he’d believe from me what he won’t 
believe from Myrtle herself.’ 

That fired the train. ‘You think he would go if he could be 
convinced of your love, Myrtle? If he could be convinced 
that he has no grounds for jealousy?’ 

Myrtle considered. ‘I think he might,’ she said slowly. 
Then, conviction growing with reflection: ‘I am sure he 
would!’ she exclaimed. ‘Jealousy is the only thing that keeps 
him.’ 

“Then he must be convinced. You must give him proofs.’ 

‘But what proofs have I to give? How can I prove such a 
thing, if my word does not suffice?’ 

Her ladyship rose. She was in some agitation, struggling 
really with despair. ‘Proofs! Proofs!’ she cried. ‘Oh, these 
male fools that must be demanding evidence of what should 


be obvious! Tom, you’re amanand you should know. What : 


<> oo ne 
= 


Pe ae Celie = it~ ae ey - 





DEA EX MACHINA' 143 


would a man consider final proof of a woman’s love, short of 
her dying for him?’ 

‘Sink me, how do I know?’ growled Tom, and again it was 
his sarcasm that fanned the expiring match. ‘Marriage is 
sometimes accepted as a proof of affection.’ 

‘Marriage!’ Her ladyship stared at him across the room, a 
sudden light in her eyes. He had said it. Out of his fatuity he 
had solved it. ‘Myrtle!’ She came rustling back to the settle, 
and sank down beside the girl. Again her arm went round her, 
and she looked closely into her face. 

‘Myrtle, you love — you really love — Harry Latimer?’ 

‘Of course, I love him.’ 

‘And you wish to party him?’ 

‘Some day, of course.’ 

‘No, not some day, Myrtle. That may be too late. Tosay: 
To-morrow at the latest.’ 

Myrtle was startled, almost terrified. She was beginning 
to advance reasons why this could not be, reasons of maidenli- 
ness and moonshine, which her ladyship peremptorily swept 
aside no sooner did she begin to grasp their import. 

‘Don’t you see that it is the only way — the only proof you 
can give him, and so the only thing that will save his life, and 
God knows how many other lives as well? It’s marriage or 
hanging for Harry Latimer. And it’s for you to decide which.’ 

She left her to think it over, and swept away to an open 
bureau set in the bay of a French window. She sat down and 
rapidly scrawled a note to Latimer begging him to give himself 
the trouble of waiting upon her ladyship immediately. ‘I 
have news for you,’ she wrote, ‘of the most urgent moment. 
If you do not come, and at once, you may have cause to re- 
gret it all your life.’ 

She folded and sealed the note, and rose. Then she pulled 
the bell-rope. A woman of quick decisions and prompt action. 
‘Well?’ she demanded of Myrtle. ‘Have you decided?’ 

Myrile’s distress was almost pitiful. 


144 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘But, Sally, my dear, there are other things to consider. 
There’s father’s consent to be obtained...’ 


‘You can obtain your father’s consent afterwards when it’s 


too late for him to refuse it.’ She handed the note to the 
servant who entered. ‘Let the messenger take that at once to 
Mr. Latimer’s on the Bay.’ 

The man departed, and her ladyship, elated, triumphant, a 
little flushed, took up an attitude in the middle of the room. 

‘There, my dear!’ 

‘Oh, but I am terrified!’ cried Myrtle, rising in her agitation. 

‘If it’s the prospect of marrying terrifies you,’ said Tom, 
lounging forward from the background, ‘you may spare 
yourself, Myrtle. It just can’t take place.’ 

‘What?’ his sister demanded. 

‘Oh, it’s like you to carry things with a high hand, Sally. 
You never see an obstacle until you fall over it. You’ve forgot 
the law. This isn’t England. Myrtle’s not of age, and can’t 
marry without her father’s consent. There’s not a parson in 
the colony would tie the knot; and if he did, it wouldn’t hold.’ 

That staggered her ladyship. And it almost looked as if it 
staggered Myrtle, too, instead of affording her relief from the 
terror she had last expressed. She sat down again, limp and 
helpless. 

‘Oh!’ was all she said. But she couldn’t have packed more 
dismay into a volume. 

‘We must obtain Sir Andrew’s consent, then,’ declared her 
undaunted ladyship. 

But Tom was so unfeeling as te laugh outright. ‘Blister me, 
Sally, it’d be easier to get the law altered.’ 

And Myrtle confirmed him by a brief statement of the 
extent of the breach between Harry and her father. 

This was checkmate, as even her ladyship was forced to 
admit. She sat down heavily, and for half an hour or more 
they talked round and round the subject, as trapped creatures 
go round and round an enclosure seeking a way out. And the 


a eee ee 


DEA EX MACHINA 145 


only noteworthy feature of that:barren conversation was the 
fact that Myrtle, who, whilst no difficulties presented them- 
selves, had known only terror at the prospect of immediate 
marriage, was now as eager as either of the other two to dis- 
cover a way into that estate. 

And then Mr. Latimer arrived, more promptly even than 
they could have hoped, now that they had no real proposal to 
lay before him. He came into the room, expecting to find her 
ladyship alone. He checked and stared at sight of her two 
companions. Then he bowed gravely. 

Lady William went forward to receive him, and drove 
straight to the heart of the matter. 

‘Harry,’ she said, ‘you have been very cruel to this poor 
child.’ 

‘Madam,’ said he, ‘I have been under the impression that 
this poor child has been very cruel to me.’ 

‘That’s because you have no eyes.’ 

‘On the contrary, ma’am, I have; and my sight’s un- 
common good.’ 

‘In your body, yes — in your great stupid, obstinate head, 
Harry. But it’s eyes in your soul I mean.’ 

‘Must we go into this?’ said Harry, with elaborate calm. 
‘If I had known...’ 

“You wouldn’t have come. That’s why I didn’t tell you. 
But you'll probably go down on your knees to-night, and 
thank God that you did come.’ 

You conceive what were now the arguments employed by 
her ladyship in the quality of Myrtle’s advocate, and with 
what effect and overbearing force she pleaded Myrtle’s case. 

At least, it startled him out of the sternness in which he had 
wrapped himself. He looked at Myrtle in amazement, and in 
something, too, of fear. 

‘You mean...’ he breathed, almost timidly, and could get 
no further. 

‘That since you demand proofs of her love for you, Myrtle 


146 THE CAROLINIAN 


is prepared to afford you the only final proof a woman can 
give aman. In defiance of her father, at the cost if need be of 
breaking with him, she is prepared to marry you out of hand. 
That is the sacrifice to which this poor lamb offers herself so 
as to persuade you of her loyalty and devotion, and so as to 
save your life.’ 

‘Myrtle!’ He advanced towards her, a great tenderness in 
his voice and his eyes. ‘Myrtle, my dear, is this really true?’ 

‘Aye, humble yourself,’ her ladyship lashed him. ‘It will 
be good for your soul.’ 

Myrtle rose to meet him, and took the hands he held out. 
‘Yes, Harry. I swear that I would marry you at once, if it 
were possible.’ 

‘If it were possible?’ he echoed, suddenly chilled again, 
already suspecting a trap. 

‘Aye!’ putin Tom. ‘It isn’t possible. That’s the rub. But 
Myrtle meant it. Blister me, she did, Harry. The note was 
despatched to you before we saw the obstacle.’ 

Oh, there was an obstacle! Still holding Myrtle’s hands, 
but holding them mechanically, Harry looked round at the 
others, and thought he understood the trick.. Myrtle was 
anxious to save his life, she had still sufficient affection for him 
for that, as indeed she had already proved. Having failed, she 
had come to Lady William with her distress. And Lady Wil- 
liam, in her anxiety to rescue her husband from a very difficult 
position, had conceived this very clever way of allaying his 
jealousy so as to remove the one insuperable obstacle to his 
departure. And she had fooled Tom into being a party to the 
deception. He was moved to contempt. Yet he commanded 
himself. 

‘But what is the obstacle?’ he asked. 

It was Tom who explained. 

“The law of the colony. Myrtle isn’t of age. Her father’s 
consent will be necessary, and in the present state of your 
relations with Sir Andrew...’ 





DEA EX MACHINA 147 


He got no further. Her ladyship interrupted him, crying 
out on an inspiration: 

‘But the law of the colonies doesn’t run in England.’ 

Harry’s irony was not to be repressed. 

‘Your ladyship is proposing that we should go to England 
to be married?’ 

‘Exactly!’ She betrayed a faint excitement. 

‘Oh, rot me, Sally!’ her brother protested. 

‘You need go no farther than the bay,’ she explained. 
‘There’s a British man-of-war at anchor there. There’s a 
chaplain aboard the Tamar, and aboard the Tamar you will 
be in England under the shelter of the English law.’ 

‘By God!’ said Tom, and it expressed their general amaze- 
ment. 

Harry stared at her ladyship a moment. So, she was 
sincere, after all! He had done ‘her an injustice. Then he 
turned to Myrtle, and Myrtle’s eyes were veiled from his own 
by fluttering eyelids. 

‘You are willing, Myrtle?’ he asked her softly, and, even as 
he asked, he was drawing her towards him, his furiously suspi- 
cious jealousy laid to rest at last before this culminating proof 
that he was preferred to Mandeville. 

‘If ...if you want me, Harry,’ she answered, ‘and if it can 
be done as Sally says.’ 

‘You may leave the doing to me,’ said Sally. ‘TU settle 
everything, even to the wedding breakfast which shall be 
served aboard. And now, Tom, I think they’ll contrive very 
well without us. And she swept her brother out of the room. 


CHAPTER XIV 
THE SOLUTION 


N the Council Chamber of the State House sat Lord 
William Campbell and such members of His Majesty’s 
Council as still possessed the courage and the inclination to 
function upon it. They were assembled to receive the Speaker 
of the Commons, whom his excellency had summoned, and 
who was punctual in his response. 

Rawlins Lowndes, a man of fifty, who looked the planter 
that he was in private life, and yet conveyed also in his person 
some sense of the dignity and austerity acquired in the course 
of his activities first as Provost Marshal of the province and 


then as Speaker of the House, came accompanied by two | 


members of the Assembly, the portly, genial Henry Laurens 
and the cold, aloof John Rutledge. 
They stood to listen to the Governor’s complaint of last 


night’s riot, his censure of those responsible for keeping the © 
peace in Charles Town, and his inquiry as to what measures it — 


was proposed to take to punish the offenders and to ensure — 


against the repetition of an outrage in which a loyal and faith- — 


ful subject of His Majesty’s had been barbarously and in- 
humanly done to death, and the King himself affronted and ~ 
insulted in the person és his representative, the Governor of | 
South Carolina. 


Rawlins Lowndes replied with calm that a committee © 


should be appointed, and the matter investigated. At the — 


same time he confessed the powerlessness of the Commons As- 


sembly to avoid such outbreaks in times of popular excite- — 


ment. He pointed out to his lordship that violent conduct by@ 
mobs was not peculiar to the colonies; that the same at that © 
present time were to be seen with even greater frequency and 


" 


De RES aie Ba 


ee 


THE SOLUTION 149 


violence in London itself; that it was the characteristic of 
Englishmen, whether at home in the heart of the empire or in 
one of its distant colonies, to resent and rise against oppres- 
sion and unjust rule. 

‘The fact, sir,’ he concluded, ‘that we reside at a distarice 
of three thousand miles from the royal palace and the seat of 
government does not alter our natures any more than it mod- 
ifies our rights.’ 

This was to diverge into a political side-track, and it was 
with reluctance that the Governor yielded to the compulsion 
to follow. 

‘Of what particular injustice do you complain, sir?’ 

‘T allude, my lord, to the unjust policy of which this unfor- 
tunate man who lost his life was the tool and servant. He was 
known to be ministering to the unhappy design of the Royal 
Government to endeavour to quell the American troubles by 
coercion of arms, instead of seeking to quiet them by the laws 
of reason and justice.’ 

Thus Lowndes contrived to make of the case of Feather- 
stone a vehicle for a restatement of the colonial cause to the 
royal representative. ; 

‘It was known,’ the Speaker continued, ‘that this man, 
acting as a spy of the Royal Government, had imperilled the 
lives of men who were honestly working to preserve the peace 
of the colony, and thereby the integrity of the British Em- 
pire. When that is understood, can you wonder that in their 
indignation the people should have risen in vengeance as they 
did last night?’ 

Lord William sighed wearily and dejectedly. ‘If I under- 
stand you aright, sir, you are conveying to me that no redress 
is tobe expected. Is that your notion of how to conciliate the 
Royal Government? You come to me with empty phrases of 
loyalty on your lips and treason in your hearts. Iam growing 
accustomed to it. I am also growing accustomed to your ac- 
cusations against the Government I represent of a conduct 


150 THE CAROLINIAN 


which is peculiarly your own. You speak of quieting the pre- 
sent troubles by reason and justice. Compare in this very 
business we are considering your own attitude with mine. 
The ringleader, the inciter of this mob, is known to me, as he 
is known to you. I should be within my rights, indeed, it is 
my solemn duty, to arrest and punish him out of hand. Yet, 
for the sake of peace, to propitiate the colony, to avoid any 
explosion of feeling which would justify my Government in 
that recourse to arms with which you reproach it, I have held 
my hand. I have contented myself with asking Mr. Latimer 
to withdraw from the province, and I have accorded him 
forty-eight hours in which to do so. How does he meet my 
generosity? Captain Mandeville, here, informs me that he is 
utterly defiant. He asserts that he will remain to force my 


hand, to compel me to arrest him, confident that such an action — 


will destroy the peace which I am so concerned to preserve. 
Would he do this, would he dare to do this, unless he had the 
support of authority behind him?’ 

‘My lord, you wrong us there,’ Lowndes answered him 
warmly. ‘Mr. Rutledge and Colonel Laurens here can both 
testify to that.’ 

And, upon his invitation, Rutledge stood forward, to state 
correctly and coldly that, with Colonel Laurens, he had used 
every endeavour of persuasion and of threat to induce Mr. 
Latimer to depart. 

“You threatened him?’ the Governor questioned. ‘With 
what did you threaten him?’ 

‘I told him clearly, my lord, that, if he were arrested as a 
consequence of his obstinacy, the whole of such influence as I 
possess in this colony would be exerted against him and in 
vindication of your lordship’s authority.’ 

Some of the gloom was dispelled from his lordship’s coun- 
tenance. ‘Do you really assure me of that, sir?’ 

‘As solemnly as I assured him,’ replied Rutledge without 
emotion. ‘If your excellency desires me, I will undertake, my- 


a 


THE SOLUTION 151 


self, his prosecution. Judge from this, my lord, whether we 
are lukewarm in the cause of peace, whether we, too, are not 
prepared for almost any sacrifice to reach a settlement with- 
out being compelled to take up arms in defence of the com- 
mon and unalienable rights peculiar to Englishmen.’ 

Not until they had departed upon his lordship’s friendly dis- 
missal, and with them were gone, too, the members of the 
Council, did the Governor give full expression to his satisfac- 
tion. His audience was made up of Captain Mandeville anda 
Major Sykes, the commander of the small garrison at Fort 
Johnson on James Island, at the harbour’s mouth, an officer 
lately appointed to the Council, to fill one of the many gaps 
appearing in it. 

Major Sykes, a loosely built, red-complexioned Irishman 
with a freckled, bony face and freckled, hairy hands, cordially 
congratulated his excellency on this happy issue. His man- 
ners, like his morals, were those of a led-captain, and, indeed, 
the position which he held was one fit only for a needy mili- 
tary adventurer. 

‘Sure now there’s an end to your lordship’s perplexities 
about this blackguard,’ he laughed. He was free with his 
laughter and boisterous. 

His lordship pensively smiled as he lolled back in the great 
chair of state, set at the end of that big bare room with its 
rudely carved wainscoting. Mandeville alone, sitting on his 
lordship’s right, at the top of the long council table, remained 
glum and preoccupied. The solution of the Governor’s per- 
plexities was but the resumption of his own. For, conscious of 
his vulnerability, the very last thing he desired was that 
Latimer should be brought to trial in Charles Town. The ex- 


_ posure with which Latimer had threatened him would cer- 


tainly ruin him with Carey, and might even cost him his life 
as well at the hands of an infuriated people. 
‘I wish I could share your lordship’s optimism,’ he ven- 
tured presently. 


152 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘What now?’ quoth his lordship, checked in the indulgence 
of his satisfaction. 

‘Can you trust these men?’ 

‘Trust them? Why should they be dishonest with me?’ 

‘I mean, can you trust their judgment? Rutledge may use 
his influence, as he says. But what will his influence be worth 
once he attempts to oppose the stream of popular feeling?’ 
He shook his head. ‘Politicians, my lord, preserve their in- 
fluence by following where they seem to lead. And Rutledge 
is a politician. Also he is vain, and his vanity deceives him. 
He attributes to the power of his own oratory the popularity 
he enjoys. His oratory succeeds because it tells his audiences 
the things they want to hear. The moment he tells something 
different, there’s an end to his influence and his leadership. 
The people are like that in every land, and in every age. Pin 
your faith to Rutledge now, and you'll find him become a 
man of straw, to be scattered by the burst of popular indigna- 
tion he’ll provoke.’ 

And Sykes approved him: ‘By God! Mandeville, it’s right 
ye are, every word of you. Sure don’t I know it? And doesn’t 
your lordship?’ 

Upon reflection, his lordship thought he did, despite his 
youth and inexperience. He stared from one to the other of 
them, his complacency shaken. 


‘Amongst the English races,’ Mandeville resumed, ‘it is 


ever the people who rule. They tolerate none but complacent 


i 


masters who obediently perform their sovereign will. And — 


amongst none of the English races is that trait more marked 
than among these independent colonials, as witness the things 
that are happening now. If we had the troops here, it would 
be another story. But as we haven’t, I make so bold as to say 
that I agree with Latimer in the confidence he reposes in 
popular feeling.’ 

‘Why, here’s a change, Mandeville!’ cried his dismayed 
lordship. ‘First it was you who counselled proceedings againaey 
Latimer, and I who held back.’ 


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THE SOLUTION rhs 


‘Latimer’s obstinate refusal to budge, his determination to 
remain and force the issue, have opened my eyes. Would he do 
that if he were not very sure of where he stands?’ 

‘Then what am I to do? What? In Heaven’s name!’ 

Mandeville shrugged. 

‘I don’t presume to advise,’ he said. ‘The situation bristles 
with thorns. But I think that in your lordship’s place I 
should get rid of Latimer with the least inconvenience to my- 
self.’ 

The Governor caught his breath, whilst from under white 
eyelashes the blue eyes of Major Sykes looked almost ap- 
prehensively at Mandeville. 

‘What are you suggesting?’ gasped his lordship. 

Mandeville rose and leaned forward across the table. ‘ I 
should have him quietly seized to-morrow night, and put 
aboard the Tamar for immediate conveyance to England to 
stand his trial there.’ 

Sykes laughed in his noisy fashion. ‘Begad, I thought you 
were proposing to have his throat cut!’ 

‘Faith, so did I,’ added the Governor in obvious relief. 

Again Mandeville shrugged; contemptuously this time. 

‘But where shall I stand when it is known?’ Lord William 
asked him. 

‘It won’t be known for months — not until news of it is 
brought out from England; and by then much may have hap- 
pened.’ 

‘It'll be known the moment he disappears!’ 

‘Not if it is done with proper care. Latimer will simply 
vanish, and the natural assumption will be that in the end he 
_has preferred not to await arrest. That is why I suggest to- 
morrow night. That he should have gone secretly can be ex- 
plained by reluctance to admit himself unequal to maintaining 
his bombast. Some may suspect us. But what is suspicion?’ 
‘You are forgetting my terms to him. I gave him forty- 

eight hours’ grace: until Friday morning.’ 


154 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Those terms he has rejected. He has announced his firm 
determination of remaining in Charles Town. What obliga- 
tion of honour is there, then, to await the expiry of the forty- 
eight hours?’ | 

The Governor sank together in his chair, and brooded ~ 
awhile. 

‘It would be an easy way out of the trouble,’ he said slowly, 
musingly. ‘But...’ He broke off suddenly, and sat up again. 
‘No. It is impossible. The first question asked me — and 
where there are suspicions, there must be questions — would 
lay the whole thing bare. If I ordered this, how could I after- 
wards deny knowledge of it?’ 

Mandeville did not immediately reply. He stroked his chin 
thoughtfully. Then, at last, he fetched a sigh. 

‘Aye! You’ve put your finger on the real difficulty.’ He 
paused before adding: ‘We'll say no more about it.’ 

His lordship grumbled ineffectively, and rose to return 
home. Outside under the pillared portico of the State House, 
Mandeville, having seen the Governor depart, linked arms 
with Sykes. 

‘If you’re for the wharves, I'll walk with you, Major.’ 

And arm-in-arm the two red-coated officers took their way — 
down Broad Street, and came out on to the bay. At Motte’s 
Wharf a wherry was drawn up manned by a dozen blacks in 
bright-coloured cottons, waiting to convey the Major back to © 
the fort. As he put out his hand in leave-taking, Mandeville © 
broached at last the matter in his mind. ; 

‘You have understood what is to be done, Major?’ 

The Irishman’s blank stare was a question in itself. Mande- — 
ville answered it. j 

‘His excellency is to be saved in spite of himself.’ : 

Sykes caught his meaning; but no more than that. 

‘How is it possible at all?’ he asked. ; 

‘Didn’t you understand him? “If I ordered this, how could | 
I afterwards deny knowledge of it?”’ That was his question. — 


THE SOLUTION 155 


Isn’t the answer plain? He hasn’t ordered it, and therefore he 
can deny all knowledge of it when he comes to be questioned.’ 

‘Oddsblud!’ spluttered Sykes. ‘Was that his meaning, 
now?’ 

‘You surely never doubted it! And he meant it for you, 
Major. You’ve the only lads we could use for this, down at 
the fort. Bring a half-dozen of them up to town to-morrow 
night, and net your bird.’ 

Sykes stood a moment considering. 

‘And if we should be mistaken, after all? If the Governor 
never meant it? Ye see it’s impossible to ask him.’ 

“You may leave the responsibility to me, Sykes.’ 

Again Sykes considered. Then he shrugged and laughed. 

‘If you put it like that, now, faith I’ll certainly oblige.’ And 
then another doubt occurred to him. ‘But without an order 
from the Governor how will Thornborough receive him aboard 
the Tamar?’ 

‘He won’t. And you needn’t put him aboard the Tamar. 
The Lass of Hale should sail for Bristol with the evening tide 
to-morrow. I'll send a word to her captain to wait until the 
following morning. She’ll serve our purpose. He’ll go home in 
irons aboard her.’ | 

‘Aye, she’s convenient to the fort,’ Sykes agreed. 

‘And if the fellow should give you trouble’ — Mandeville 
instinctively lowered his voice — ‘don’t be tender of him. An 
accident would be no great matter. I’m not sure that it. 
wouldn’t be the best solution, after all.’ 

It was not a suggestion upon which Mandeville would have 
ventured had he been less assured of the utter unscrupulous- 
ness of the man to whom he offered it. 

Sykes closed an eye in token of intelligence; then he asked 
some further questions concerned with the means to be em- 
ployed, to all of which the equerry smoothly supplied him 
with ready answers. Satisfied at last, Sykes stepped into the 
waiting wherry, and was pulled away across the sunlit water. 


156 THE CAROLINIAN 


At supper that night Mandeville found the Governor en- 
tirely recovered from the gloom in which last he had left him 
at the State House. The reason for this was presently dis- 
closed. 

‘Mandeville, our riddle’s solved. I have Mr. Latimer’s as- 
surance that he will be gone from Charles Town within the 
time appointed.’ 

And so taken aback was Mandeville that he uttered his 
thought aloud: ‘Now, why the devil couldn’t the fool have 
said so sooner!’ 

It raised a laugh, for there was something almost comical in 
the dismay of that usually imperturbable countenance. 

‘It remained for her ladyship to persuade him,’ the Gov- 
ernor answered, beaming upon Lady William. ‘What 
witchery she employed I can’t guess nor will she tell me.’ 


‘Lady William’s witchery is not of the kind that drives men ~ 


away,’ said Captain Mandeville. 
‘La!’ said her ladyship. ‘Here’s unusual gallantry!’ 


‘Gallantry, madam!’ Mandeville affected grief at being so © 


misunderstood. ‘I employed no gallantry. I but pointed to a 
mystery.’ 

‘And mysterious we'll leave it,’ she answered lightly. Add- 
ing nevertheless a jest whose meaning was clear only to her- 
self. ‘I'll not have Captain Mandeville gnashing his teeth be- 
fore he must.’ 

But, as a matter of fact, he was gnashing them already over 
the unnecessary measures he had taken, measures which must 
now be cancelled. So that Latimer went, the manner of his 
going was no great matter. If, on the whole, the Captain 
would have preferred it to have been as he had concerted with — 
Major Sykes, yet, on the other hand, Latimer’s departure of 
his own free will would spare Mandeville the necessity of sub- — 
sequent difficult explanations. Therefore, he was content. 


de on ee ee ne ee! 


Se en ae 


+ 


thc ae 


CHAPTER XV 
THE NUPTIALS 


VERYTHING concerned with Myrtle’s marriage fell 
out precisely as her ladyship promised and subsequently 
planned, which was the way of things of which her ladyship 
had the planning. 
' To quiet Myrtle’s grievous misgivings on the score of her 
father, her ladyship undertook that after the departure of the 
bridal couple she would, herself, not merely inform Sir Andrew 
of what had been done, but compel him to see reason and ob- 
tain his pardon for the runagates. 
‘And never doubt that I shall,’ said Lady William with con- 
vincing emphasis. ‘What men can’t alter they soon condone.’ 
Thus, out of her own splendid confidence, she allayed at last 
Myrtle’s lingering fears and only abiding regrets. 
_ So much accomplished, her ladyship unfolded the further 
details of her plan for getting the couple safely away. The 
Brewtons’ ball that same Thursday night, being of an almost 
official character, Lady William’s viceregal position demanded 
that she should go attended by two ladies of honour. From 
the position of one of these she would depose her Cousin Jane 
in favour of Myrtle. Asa result, Myrtle would be expected to 
attend her throughout, and to facilitate this, Lady William 
would arrange with Sir Andrew that Myrtle be allowed to 
spend the night at the Governor’s residence. Thus the bridal 
couple would be ensured a clear and unhampered start whilst 
all Charles Town was still entirely unsuspicious. For the rest, 
the real arrangement was that Harry Latimer should be at 
hand with a travelling-carriage, and that, as soon as Myrtle 
could conveniently leave the ball without being missed, she 
should join him, and they should immediately start for his 


158 THE CAROLINIAN 


plantation at Santee Broads, a drive of fifty miles, which 
would consume the whole of the night. Thence, after resting, 
they were to push on to a distant estate of Mr. Latimer’s in 


the hills above Salisbury, where for the present they were to — 


abide. There, in the cotton-fields of North Carolina, their 
honeymoon might peacefully be spent without fear of pursuit 
from any save Sir Andrew, who would in any case be powerless 
to untie the knot which the law of England was so securely to 
tie aboard the Tamar. 

And so, soon after breakfast on Thursday morning, Myrtle 
departed from Tradd Street, on the pretext that her ladyship 
had bidden her come early. There would be a deal to do in 
preparation for the ball, she casually announced in explana- 
tion. 

‘Not a doubt,’ said her father. And when he beheld the 
dimensions of the clothes-box that was being borne after her, 
he raised eyes and hands to heaven. ‘Lord! The vanity of 
woman!’ 

But Myrtle was already down the steps and into her sedan 


chair, lest he should detect the tears that had suddenly come ~ 
to fill her eyes at the thought that she was definitely leaving | 


her father’s home, and leaving it under cover of a deceit. 


It needed all Lady William’s stout cheeriness and confi- — 
dence to dispel the black clouds that were gathering about — 


Myrtle’s soul when presently she came into her ladyship’s 


radiant presence. Nor was she given much time for further — 
brooding. Within a half-hour of reaching the Governor’s | 


residence, she was taking boat at the Exchange Wharf with © 


her ladyship, a boat manned by four British tars and com- 
manded by a pert boy-officer. 


Out in the bay, as they drew near the Tamar, with her 
black-and-white hull, the snowy sails furled along her yards — 


and the gleam of brass from her deck, they were joined by — 
another boat, rowed by blacks in linsey-woolsey jackets, and — 
carrying Harry Latimer and Tom Izard. 


f 


4 


THE NUPTIALS 159 


In the waist of the warship they found a guard of honour 
drawn up, whilst Captain Thornborough, the handsome sun- 
burnt officer in command of the sloop, came forward to re- 
ceive them. 

All was ready, as her ladyship had predisposed. But to 
satisfy the pretext on which they came, there was first a tour 
of inspection of the ship. When this was over, the Captain in- 
vited the guests to a glass of Madeira in his cabin before leav- 
ing. He contrived unostentatiously to include in the invita- 
tion the chaplain, who had, somehow, got in the way at the 
last moment. 

In the cabin no time was wasted. No sooner had the stew- 
ard retired after pouring for them than with naval despatch 
Captain Thornborough made them come to business. The 
chaplain was brisk, and confined himself to the essentials of 
the ceremony. Within a few minutes all was accomplished, 
and the Captain of the Tamar was raising his glass to toast 
Mrs. Henry Latimer. 

‘Td fire a salute in your honour, ma’am, but it would occa- 
sion questions we may not be prepared to answer.’ 

In the vessel’s waist, where they had met scarcely an hour 
ago, husband and wife parted again for the present, and 
Myrtle and Lady William went down the steps to the waiting 
cockboat. 

Myrtle bore now on her finger the ring that had belonged to 
Harry’s mother, the very ring that once, and not so long ago, 
she had returned to him. In her heart she bore perhaps the 
oddest conflict of emotions that has ever been a bride’s. There 
was happiness in the thought that Harry now belonged to her, 
and that nothing could ever again come between them; there 
was happiness, too, in the reflection that thus she had con- 
quered Harry’s obstinacy and jealous doubts and prevailed 
upon him to save his life by leaving Charles Town. But there 
were regrets at the manner of her marriage, and infinitely 
more poignant regrets at the thought of what her father must 


160 THE CAROLINIAN 


suffer in his affection and his pride when he learnt of these 
hole-and-corner nuptials between herself and a man against 
whom he bore a prejudice that was amounting almost to 
hatred. 

There were tears blurring her vision as she looked back over 


the waves on which the sunlight was dancing to that other ~ 


boat at the foot of the ship’s ladder into which her husband 
and his friend were stepping. And the boy-officer, chatting 
briskly with Lady William, gave her ladyship no opportunity 
to offer Myrtle any of the comfort of which she perceived the 
poor child to stand in need. 

They reached at last the Exchange Wharf, and, whilst a 
sailor held the boat firmly alongside by means of a boathook, 
the gallant stripling of an officer, standing on the wet slippery 
steps, handed the ladies ashore, to set them face to face with 
Captain Mandeville. 

Delayed until then by official duties, the Captain was on his 
way to Fort Johnson to inform Major Sykes that his services 
that night would no longer be required. He was looking about 
for a wherry to convey him at the very moment that the 
cockboat from the Tamar containing her ladyship and Myrtle 
drew alongside the wharf. 

Lady William, conscious as she was of being engaged upon 
a deed of secrecy, paused to stare at him, suspecting an excess 
of coincidence in his presence. Nor did his air of surprise allay 
her suspicions, as it should have done, for Captain Mandeville 
was not the man to show surprise when he actually felt it. 

He doffed his black three-cornered hat and bowed. 

‘I did not know your ladyship addicted to water-jaunts.’ 


Myrtle, esteeming him, persuaded of his sincere and selfless | 
friendship, and detesting fraud beyond what was absolutely 
necessary to her safety and Harry’s, would there and then ~ 


have given him the real reason for her journeyings by water, 
had not her ladyship forestalled her. 


‘I am not,’ she told the equerry. ‘But Captain Thorn- F 


i A 





Se ee ee ae ee = K 


THE NUPTIALS 161 


borough offered to show his ship to Myrtle, and the child 
had never been aboard a man-of-war. But we detain you, . 
Captain,’ she added, bethinking her of the second boat that 
followed, and preferring that he should not stay to meet its 
occupants. 

‘No, no,’ he answered. ‘I am not pressed. I am only going 
to Fort Johnson. I was looking for a boat. I trust you found 
the man-of-war all that you expected it, Myrtle?’ 

‘Why, yes,’ she said, and lowered her lids under his sharp 
gaze lest he should perceive the signs of tears about her eyes. 

‘But we have no enthusiasm,’ he faintly rallied her, smiling. 

Her ladyship promptly rescued her. 

‘Come, Myrtle. The man will keep us talking here all 
day.’ 

‘Nay, a moment, of your mercy. This may be my only 
chance before the ball to-night.’ 

“Your chance of what?’ 

“To ensure myself the dance I covet. The first minuet, 
_ Myrtle, if you will honour me so far?’ 

“But, of course, Robert.’ And impulsively she held out her 
hand. 

He took it, and, bareheaded as he had remained, bowed low 
over it. For an instant, as he did so, his eyes dilated; but his 
bowed head screened this from both the ladies. And then her 
_ ladyship whirled Myrtle away without further ceremony. 

He stood watching them until they were lost in the bustling 
crowd about the New Exchange. Then, slowly resuming his 
hat, a deep line of thought between his fine brows, he turned 
his attention once more to that other craft which had already 
caught his eye. 

He signalled to a wherry to stand by, but made no move to 
enter it until the boat he watched was alongside, and out of 
it sprang Latimer and Tom Izard. They exchanged bows 
formally, and without words, despite the fact that the equerry 
was — or had been—on easy terms with her ladyship’s 


162 THE CAROLINIAN 


brother. Then Captain Mandeville stepped into the boat he 
had summoned, and sat down in the sternsheets. 

‘Push off!’ he curtly bade the negroes. 

The four men bent to their oars, and the boat shot away 
from the wharf. 

‘Where does yo’ honour want fer to go?’ the nearest negro 
asked him. 

Captain Mandeville considered a long moment. Then he 
stretched out a hand to grasp the tiller. 

‘To the sloop Tamar,’ he answered. 

When he reached her decks, her captain was below, but he 
came instantly upon being informed that the Governor’s 
equerry had come aboard. 

‘Ah, Mandeville! Good-day to you,’ he greeted him. 

Mandeville gave him a short good-day in return. ‘I wanta 
word with you in private, Thornborough.’ 

The sailor looked at him, mildly surprised by his tone. 

“Come aft to my cabin,’ he invited, and led the way. 

Mandeville sat down upon a locker with his back to the 
square windows that opened upon the stern gallery. On the 
table before him he observed a book, a decanter at a low ebb, 
and six glasses, in two of which a little wine remained. He 
could account for five of the glasses and assumed the sixth to 
have been for some other officer of the Tamar. 

Thornborough, standing straight and tall in his blue uni- 
form with white facings, looked at him questioningly across 
the table. 

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What brings you?’ 


‘Mr. Harry Latimer has been aboard your ship this morn- 


ing.’ 

He had deliberately placed himself so that the light was on 
Thornborough’s face, and his own in shadow. Watching the 
sailor now, he fancied that his eyes shifted a little to avoid his 
own. Also there was a perceptible pause before Thornborough 
answered him. 


—_ 
ee 


PSF NK. sey See Fr a es ii el 


THE NUPTIALS 163 


‘That is so. What, then?’ 
‘What do you know of him?’ 

‘I? What should I know? He is a wealthy colonial gentle- 
man. But you should know more about him, yourself.’ 

‘I do. That is why I am questioning you. What was he 
doing aboard your ship?’ 

Thornborough stiffened. ‘Sink me, Mandeville! What’s 
the reason for this catechism?’ 

‘This fellow Latimer is a rebel, a dangerous spreader of 
sedition, and a daring spy. That is the reason. That is why I 
ask you what he came to do aboard your ship.’ 

Thornborough laughed. ‘It had nothing to do with spying. 
Of that I can assure you. What should he have spied here 
that could profit him?’ 

‘You are not forgetting that you have Kirkland on board?’ 
Mandeville asked him. 

‘All Charles Town knows that. What should Mr. Latimer 
discover by spying on Kirkland?’ 

‘Possibly he came to ascertain whether he is still here. But 
if you were to tell me on what pretext he did come, I might 
be able to obtain a glimpse of his real reason.’ 

* It happened, however, that Thornborough’s instructions 
from Lady William were quite explicit; and in nothing that 
Mandeville had said could he see any reason for departing 
from them. 

‘Mandeville, you’re hunting a mare’s nest. Mr. Latimer 
came aboard with Lady William Campbell and one or two 
others so as to view a British man-of-war. To suppose that he 
could discover here anything of possible advantage to his 
party or of detriment to ours is ridiculous.’ 

‘You may find that you take too much for granted, Thorn- 
borough.’ Mandeville spoke mysteriously. As he spoke, he 
rose, and proceeded to relate to the sailor how Latimer had 

visited the Governor only yesterday in disguise and pumped 

_ him dry on more than one subject. ‘If I had not subsequently 


164 ' THE CAROLINIAN 


discovered this, and ascertained the extent of the information 
he drew from us, I might have remained as unsuspecting as 
yourself.’ 

Whilst speaking, he had idly picked up the book from the 
table, to make the surprising discovery that it was a book of 
Common-Prayer. A bookmark of embroidered silk hung from 
its pages, and the book opened naturally in Mandeville’s 
hands at the Marriage Service, which was the place marked. 
Idly he continued to turn its leaves. He even looked at the 
name on the fly-leaf, which was ‘Robert Faversham.’ It was 
odd to find such a volume on the Captain’s table. He set it 
down again, and assuming at last that Thornborough really 
had nothing to tell him beyond the fact which he had desired 
to ascertain — namely that Latimer actually had been on 
board the ship in Myrtle’s company — he took his leave. 

With a final admonition to Thornborough to be careful of 
whom he admitted to his sloop, the equerry went down the 
entrance ladder to his waiting boat, with intent to resume his 
voyage to the fort. But within a dozen cables’ length of the 
Tamar, he abruptly changed his mind. 1 

‘Put about,’ he ordered, and added curtly: ‘Back to Charles 
Town.’ I 

He was obeyed without question, and the clumsy boat — 
swung round to pull against the tide, which was beginning to 
ebb. ’ 
Ahead of them, drenched in brilliant sunshine, and looking ~ 
dazzlingly white, the low-lying town appeared to float like © 
another Venice upon the sea, the water-front dominated by ~ 
the classical pile of the Custom-House with its Ionic pillars © 


and imposing entablature, whilst above the red roofs towered ~ 
the spires of Saint Philip’s and Saint Michael’s, the latter ~ 
so lofty that it served as a landmark for ships far out at ~ 


sea. 8 
Captain Mandeville, however, beheld nothing but a slender, 
woman’s hand, with white tapering fingers protruding from 








THE NUPTIALS 165 


mittens of white silk, and round one of these fingers a circlet 
of gold, gleaming through the strained silken meshes. 

That in some mysterious way Myrtle and Harry had be- 
come reconciled was clear from their joint presence aboard the 
Tamar, whilst the discovery of that restored ring betrayed the 
fact that the reconciliation had gone the extent of renewing 
their betrothal. 

That was reason enough to restrain him from going to Fort 
Johnson to bid Sykes hold his hand. At all costs, and what- 
ever the consequence with which the Governor might after- 
wards visit him, Mandeville must allow the plan laid with 
Sykes to be carried out. He was in a difficult position. But 
he must deal with one difficulty at a time, and in dealing first 
with Harry Latimer he dealt with the more imminent danger 
to himself and all his hopes. 

He sat there, elbow on knee and chin in hand, absorbed in 
thought, piecing together little tenuous scraps of evidence, 
and plagued to irritation the while by the obstinate association 
in his mind of the ring he had seen on her finger and the book 
he had found on Captain Thornborough’s table. Those things 
and that visit of theirs to the sloop that morning forced a 
dreadful suspicion on his mind, a suspicion too dreadful to be 
entertained. He rejected it, as wildly fantastic; and yet the 


_ thought of the ring and the book persisted until he was land- 


ing on the wharf at Charles Town. Finally he shook it off. 
“What can it matter, after all?’ he asked himself. ‘Sykes will 
make it all of no account to-night. I rid the State of a 


_ dangerous enemy and myself of a dangerous rival at one 


stroke. And I shall be treading a minuet whilst it is done.’ 


CHAPTER XVI 
THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 


HAT ball at the State House, given by Miles Brewton 

in honour of the new Governor of South Carolina, was 
of a piece with, indeed, almost an epitome of, the ironic 
situation presented in those June days in Charles Town. If 
the spirit of tragedy gloomed upon the gay scene, surely the 
spirit of comedy was cheek by jowl with it, agrin. 

Here, above smouldering passions and festering hates born 
of man’s eternal misunderstandings and intolerance, and 
presently to find vent in war, was maintained an unruffled 
surface, reflecting only the amenities and courtesies of peace. 

Actually the place chosen for the féte was itself the very 
nidus of the growing conflict. Above-stairs were the chambers 
in which the representatives of the two contending parties 
met in conference; the room in which the Commons Assembly, 
constituting itself into a Provincial Congress, debated meas- 
ures for meeting the despotic oppression of the mother coun- 
try; and the room in which the Governor and his Council met 
for little purpose nowadays but to study how to subdue this 
transatlantic Jeshurun, which, having waxed fat and lusty 
under the maternal zgis of the ‘British Empire, was now kick- 
ing rebelliously against its parent. 

To-night one of those chambers was to concern tle with 
no strife of greater acerbity than the amicable contests proper 
to the green-clad card-tables laid out for those who did not 


dance; the other was converted into a place of refreshment;a __ 
buffet ranged against one of the walls from end to end of the 


terrapins, gigantic sweetmeats in which sculptor appeared to 


have collaborated with confectioner, and a dozen other b 





THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 167 


delicacies. And a troop of dusky servants paraded here, white 
teeth flashing in ebony faces, which grinned already in an- 
ticipation of the feast’s aftermath that should be their own. 
They were assembled to minister alike to loyalist and rebel, 
who as indifferently would presently take a punch or eat a 
quail in each other’s company, exchanging quips as readily 
to-night as to-morrow or the next day they might be exchang- 
ing pistol-shots. 

Surveying the scene later that evening with Lady William, 
Captain Mandeville offered upon it an ironic comment which 
her ladyship thought it worth while to preserve for us in 
that diary of hers: 

‘There is this advantage in breeding, that, until the moment 
when necessity bids men fight like beasts, they may make 
things pleasant by conducting themselves like gentlemen.’ 

The great hall below-stairs was as gay as flowers and 
bunting and candle-laden chandeliers and girandoles could 
render it. At one end a gallery had been raised for the 
musicians; at the other a shallow dais, which was carpeted 
and furnished with gilded chairs for the Governor and his 
suite. 

Over the waxed and gleaming floor a throng as brilliant and 
fashionable as any that in a similar gathering the Old World 
could show moved with well-bred and appropriate languor, 
with bows and curtsies, with slow waving of fans and nodding 
plumes set above powdered head-dresses, with flash of quiz- 
_zing glasses and glitter of jewels. 

It was a scene that would have amazed some of the unin- 
formed gentlemen at home in Westminster who legislated 
condescendingly for these colonials under the impression 
that they were rude farmers at best and half-savages at worst. 
And the irony which this function presented in general was 
still more keenly apparent in its particulars. There was 
Moultrie, square and sturdy in the blue coat with scarlet 
facings of the South Carolina militia, which was worn by 


168 THE CAROLINIAN 


perhaps a dozen others present. He was in easy talk with 
Captain Thornborough and a group of officers in the blue and 
white of the royal navy, who had come ashore to attend this 
function, and with him, very gay and voluble, was the young — 
republican Thomas Lynch. There was John Rutledge, hand- 
some and impassive as ever, very elegant in an elaborately 
clubbed white tie-wig and a suit of violet taffetas with gold- 
laced buttonholes, deep in talk with the scarlet-coated, foppish 
Captain Davenant, who was Major Sykes’s second in com- 
mand at Fort Johnson. The Major, himself, for some reason 
unaccountable to Davenant, was not present. Miss Polly 
Roupell, the famous beauty, the toast of the Charles Town — 
bucks and a white flame of loyalty, was gay and challenging ~ 
to the equally gay and brilliant rebel William Henry Drayton; ~ 
that other notorious and daring rebel Captain MacDonald, in © 
the blue and scarlet of the militia, was entertaining and clearly — 
amusing the two daughters of the House of Cunningham, the ~ 
most tory of all the back-country families; the youngest — 
Fletchall, of that other ardent tory house, very spruce in pink ~ 
and silver, spread his charms to dazzle the pretty rebel Miss © 
Middleton, whilst the gaunt, stern-faced John Stuart, the © 
King’s Indian Agent, himself looking like an Indian, wasdoing © 
homage to the still beautiful Mrs. Henry Laurens. J 
Had not nature rendered prominent as a frog’s the eyes of © 
George III — which looked down upon the assembly from the ~ 
portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, hung for the occasion above — 
the dais set apart for His Majesty’s representative — well 
might they now have bulged to see rebel and loyalist rubbing ~ 
shoulders there in such open amity. 4 
But if the eyes of King George, being merely painted upon ~ 
canvas, were incapable of emotion, those of Sir Andrew Carey — 
were not. He kept himself aloof and apart with the elder © 
Fletchall under the lintel of one of the French windows, which — 
stood open to the garden and the cool evening air. fi 
To a man of his narrow, uncompromising, almost fanatical ’ 

















THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 169 


outlook there was much here that was utterly incompre- 
hensible, and some things that enraged him. One of these was 
the sight of those militia uniforms — to him the very livery 
of treason—at a ball given in honour of His Gracious 
Majesty’s representative. Another was that gentlemen of 
His Majesty’s navy should be passing the time of day with 
that detestable fellow Lynch to whose ultimate hanging Sir 
Andrew looked forward confidently and pleasurably. And 
then these frivolous young women, whose minds went no 
deeper than a matter of powder and patches and the set of a 
French gown, chopping shallow wit with avowed rebels, was 
to him a spectacle shocking and deplorable. 

He was expressing himself to Fletchall in some such terms, 
and vowing that he would rather see his daughter dead than 
so lost to a sense of what became her, when above the rolling 
hum of talk and laughter, and to subdue it, the orchestra 
suddenly crashed forth. 

The solemn strains of ‘God save the King’ announced the 
arrival of the Governor. Instantly there was a shuffling of 
feet, and the gay, confused throng ranged itself into some 
semblance of order, leaving a clear space by the entrance, and 
a clear way to the dais. Sir Andrew observed, but did not per- 
mit himself to be deceived by the circumstance, that the rebel 
militia officers present came to attention as readily as any, and 
stood so, in homage to the King, throughout the anthem. 

On the closing bars of the music, Lord William made his 
appearance, a handsome figure in ivory satin, a blaze of orders 
on his breast, his face looking almost boyish below his pow- 
dered head. Beside him stood her ladyship, radiant in cloth of 
gold over white brocade, an incarnation of regality such as 
— by one of life’s abounding ironies — is rarely achieved by 
those of regal birth. 

There was a sound as of wind in trees: a slither of feet and a 
_tustle of silks, as, with billowing hoops, the ladies sank down 
to curtsy and each man bowed low over outward-thrusting 
leg. 


170 THE CAROLINIAN 


Then, to welcome their excellencies, Miles Brewton ad- 
vanced with his comely wife, who had been Polly Izard and 
was her ladyship’s sister. And here again was ubiquitously 
intruding irony. For Miles Brewton, the promoter of this ball 
in honour of King George’s representative, the friend of Lord — 
William and the brother-in-law of her ladyship, was, himself, 
an open adherent of the colonial party and a member of the 
Provincial Congress. 

His words of welcome were brief and graceful. They were 
expressed on behalf of ‘His Majesty’s faithful and loving 
subjects of Charles Town, here assembled,’ a description 
which provoked an audible snort of contempt from Sir 
Andrew Carey. 

Lord William’s reply was almost equally brief and fully as 
gracious. He thanked them on his own and Lady William’s 
behalf, and took this opportunity of declaring feelingly that 
Charles Town might count upon him to labour earnestly to 
promote the real happiness and prosperity of the province he 
was sent to govern. 

Thereafter, with nods and smiles of greeting as they passed 
up the room, the viceregal pair moved to the dais, followed 
by his excellency’s equerries, Captains Mandeville and 
Tasker, and her ladyship’s ladies of honour, Miss Carey — as 
she was still regarded — and Miss Ravenell. 

The band struck up an invitation, and the gentlemen 
sought their partners for the minuet. Lord William led forth, 
as his duty was, his sister-in-law and nominal hostess, and her 
ladyship followed on the arm of Mr. Brewton, whilst the 
equerries paired off with the ladies of honour. 

As they took their places on the polished floor, Captain 
Mandeville considered his partner with eyes of undisguised 
admiration. 

‘IT do not think I ever saw you look more beautiful,’ he — 
murmured. ‘How well your gown becomes you!’ 

It was true enough, and Myrtle knew it. Over a hooped — 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 171 


petticoat of palest lavender, she wore a sacque of richly 
flowered brocade. Her slim bust was set off by some old lace 
and jewels that had been her mother’s, and at the last moment 
Lady William had thrust a blood-red rose into Myrtle’s 
powdered hair, just below her ear. 

‘This is your wedding-dance, my dear,’ her ladyship had 
reminded her, between tenderness and raillery. ‘And you 
must look your best.’ 

Her best she certainly looked. There was colour in her 
cheeks that were normally so pale, and an unusual sparkle in 
her eyes, of so deep a blue that they seemed black in some 
lights and violet in others. Something of the excitement 
stirring in her lent her an unwonted radiance. 

Aware of this, she found Captain Mandeville’s compliment 
proper enough; yet she turned it off lightly. ‘Beauty we are 
told dwells in the eye of the beholder.’ 

And Mandeville, impulsive for once, answered too quickly; 
‘When I am he, then are you beautiful, indeed.’ 

She caught the throb of passion which escaped in his voice, 
before he could control it. It chilled and startled her. For- 
tunately the figure of the dance, which was beginning, claimed 
their attention, and there was no occasion for words again 
until the end was reached, and each cavalier was bowing, 
hand on heart, to his curtsying lady. 

Nor was there occasion even then. For as the last note of 
the fiddles was being lost in the babble of loosened talk, Tom 
Izard, gorgeous as a peacock, upon whose colours he appeared 
to have modelled his own, came surging up to them to claim 
the next dance from Myrtle. Other gallants crowded after 
him, and as her ladyship sailed into the group to give Miss 
Carey the support of her countenance in this siege, Mande- 
ville slipped away and went sauntering round the room in- 
different to the raking fire of the dowagers’ spy-glasses which 
a man of his figure and bearing could never escape. 

Near the door of the smaller anteroom, in which, also, card- 


172 THE CAROLINIAN 


tables had been set out, without, however, having as yet 
found tenants, the Captain was confronted by Sir Andrew, 
who had just separated from Lieutenant Gascoyne of the 
Tamar. Sir Andrew was obviously perturbed. He was never 
the man to conceal emotion, his handsome countenance now 
plainly reflected feelings that could not be pleasant. 

‘D’ye know what I’m told, Robert?’ he hailed his kinsman, 
and at once supplied the answer to his own question. ‘That 
Myrtle was with Harry Latimer aboard the British sloop this 
morning.’ His tone conveyed that he desired the announce- 
ment to be regarded as monstrous. 

The manner of Mandeville’s reply hardly fulfilled this 
desire. ‘They were in her ladyship’s party.’ 

“You knew!’ Sir Andrew seemed amazed at this. ‘And you 
didn’t tell me!’ 

‘Why disturb you with it? Perhaps it was no great matter, 
after all.’ 

‘No great matter! If her ladyship has no more respect for 
her husband than to be seen abroad in the company of a 
notorious rebel, I mean that my daughter shall have more 
respect for herself and for me. It is known that I’ve forbid 
my house to Latimer. For Myrtle to be seen with him after 
that is to make herself and me ridiculous. Besides, hasn’t she 
protested that she would never speak to him again? Is she 
playing a double game, Robert? Ye don’t think that, do ye?’ 

‘Tam sure Myrtle is incapable of anything of the kind. You 
may be sure that she is quite single in her purpose.’ 

‘In what purpose?’ 

Captain Mandeville took refuge in philosophic vagueness. 
“Who can fathom woman?’ 

‘Oh, damn your affectations!’ Sir Andrew was undoubtedly 
irritable. ‘I want to understand this thing.’ 

Mandeville reflected that so did he. But for him there was 
at least the measure of consolation that the inopportune Mr. 
Latimer would trouble them no more. 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 173 


He stood there, in inconclusive talk with Sir Andrew, until 
the fiddles, under the direction of Monsieur Paul, the French 
dancing-master who kept an academy in Queen Street, 
sounded a preliminary chord to summon the dancers to the 
floor. The chatter became a little less noisy and the move- 
ment of that throng of gaily dressed men and women assumed 
a more definite character as the couples moved hither and 
thither to take up their stations. 

A plump rather cherubic young gentleman in unrelieved 
clerical black, wearing a parson’s bands and a white tie-wig, 
sauntered up to them. He was alone, he was obviously 
amiable, and he was to prove garrulous. Without ceremony 
he joined the Captain and the Baronet, and burst into an 
encomium of the féte, of Lord William, of Lady William, of 
Miles Brewton and Miles Brewton’s charming wife, and 
finally of colonial life in general. 

Mandeville thought him wearisome and scarce troubled 
to conceal the thought. But Sir Andrew, who honoured the 
clergy, was at pains to be pleasant in return. It had barely 
transpired that the gentleman was the Reverend Mr. Faver- 
sham, the chaplain of the Tamar, and Sir Andrew was about 
to ask him certain obvious questions, when Tom Izard came 
by with Myrtle on his arm. She saw them, and smiled a smile 
that was mainly for her father and Mandeville, but which the 
parson, knowing nothing of the relationship between his 
companions and the lady, took entirely for himself. He bowed 
low. As he came up again, his face wreathed in a gratified 
smile, he turned to the other two. 

‘A delicious child!’ he purred. 

‘To whom do you allude, sir?’ the Baronet asked him. 

‘To...ah...’ The parson — unconscious instrument of 
Fate — made search for a name in his memory. The name he 
found in his haste was the name to which that very morning 
he had helped her. 

‘To Mrs, Latimer.’ 


174 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Mrs. Latimer!’ Sir Andrew’s heavy brows were drawn 
together. 

Mandeville drew an audible breath. The ring and the 
book! He called himself a fool for having rejected the only 
possible inference from their conjunction. It should not have | 
required the addition of the parson. But Sir Andrew, be- 
wildered, was still questioning Mr. Faversham. 

‘Mrs. Latimer? Which here is Mrs. Latimer?’ 

The parson did not quite like the tone of the question. It 
recalled him to his senses, and made him perceive the indis- 
cretion he had committed. 

‘Per...perhaps I was mistook,’ he faltered. ‘Perhaps 
that was not the name. 

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mandeville at his elbow. And his voice was 
quiet, though his face was white. ‘That was the name. You 
have made no mistake. You married them this morning 
aboard the sloop.’ 

The parson stared at him in sheer relief. ‘It is known, then,’ 
he said. ‘Bless me! I was fearful I had said too much.’ 

He felt his arm caught in a grip that made him wince with 
pain. For Sir Andrew was a man of great physical vigour, 
and at the moment he was using it rather recklessly. 

‘Come in here, sir,’ he said in a voice thick as a drunkard’s, 
and he all but dragged the unfortunate parson across the 
threshold of the untenanted little anteroom. Mandeville, 
following, took the precaution to close the door. In any 
situation he could be trusted not to overlook essentials. 

Leaning against one of the card-tables, the cherubic Mr. 
Faversham looked up in terror at the big handsome man 
towering threateningly above him, and heard in terror the 
deep voice that commanded him to explain clearly and with- 
out eas whom he had married and when. 

LOLE 4h SIO wee DrOtEse vin the tone you take 
with me. You hee ad the right to... tom 

The Baronet interrupted hie in a voice of thunder, ‘Have 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 175 


I not, sir? I am Sir Andrew Carey. I am the father of Miss 
Carey, the lady of whom you spoke, I think. And you spoke 
of her as “Mrs. Latimer.” Now, sir, be short and clear with 
me. [ll have no prevarications . 

‘Sir Andrew!’ The little vellguns was indignant. ‘It is not 
my habit to prevaricate. Dll beg you to respect my cloth.’ 

‘Will you answer me?’ roared Sir Andrew. 

Mr. Faversham stiffened. ‘No, sir, I will not. I dislike 
your manners, sir. I dislike them excessively. They are the 
manners of a boor...ofa...a planter. Which is, I take it, 
what you are. I'll trouble you not to detain me.’ Thus, in 
the dignity which Sir Andrew’s rudeness justified him in 
assuming, Mr. Faversham now thought to take secure refuge. 
But never in all his life was he nearer to having his neck 
broken than at that moment. 

Sir Andrew, white with passion, and trembling, gripped the 
parson’s arm once more, and literally shook the little gentle- 
man. 

‘Sir, you trifle with me. You do not leave this room until 
you have answered me.’ 

Mandeville came to the rescue. He was miraculously calm. 
‘Is this insistence necessary, Sir Andrew? Can his reverence 
add anything to what already he has admitted? He has prac- 
tically confessed that he married Myrtle to Harry Latimer 
this morning; and if I had not been dull of wit I should have 
known it without his confession. I had evidence enough, God 
knows.’ 

Sir Andrew looked at the parson, wild-eyed, still maintain- 
ing that crushing grip. He was breathing heavily. 

‘Is this true?’ he asked. ‘In one word, sir: Is it true?’ 

And then the door was opened, and Myrtle stood on the 
threshold. She had seen her father’s violent action in dragging 
the chaplain into the anteroom, and she had seen Mandeville 
thereafter close the door. It had required no more than that 
to tell her what had happened, and at the earliest moment 


176 THE CAROLINIAN 


she had disengaged herself from the dance, and, with Tom 
Izard at her heels, had come to intervene in a scene which so 
closely concerned herself. 

She was pale, but quite calm and very straight. Her loyal, 
candid nature actually welcomed this occasion to make an 
end of the deceit she was practising. 

‘Father, what is it you require to know?’ She came for- 
ward. 

Tom followed her, and closed the door again. If there was 
to be a scene, and he was quite sure that a scene there was to 
be, they could well dispense with witnesses. 

Sir Andrew loosed the parson and turned on her, his great 
face purple, his eyes terrible. 

‘T have been all but told that you were married this morn- 
ing to... to Harry Latimer. I... I can’t believeit. I won’t.’ 

‘It is quite true.’ 

‘True!’ He stared at her for a long moment, his mouth 
open. ‘It is true!’ Then he sat down heavily, and with his 
hand motioned away the parson who stood before him, whose 
very presence began to offend him. 

Captain Mandeville tapped Mr. Faversham’s shoulder, 
and beckoned him towards the door. Glad enough to escape 
from all this mischief which he was overwhelmed to think he 
had made, Mr. Faversham obeyed the signal. 

‘I am sorry, Miss... Mrs. Latimer,’ he faltered as he 
passed her. ‘I have been monstrous indiscreet.’ 

‘It is no matter for that, sir,’ she answered him, and con- 
trived to smile reassuringly. 

“You may make amends by discretion now,’ the Captain 
told him. ‘Do not mention a word of what has passed to any 
one, not even to Lady William. Thus you will make it easier 
for us to ... to repair the harm.’ 

‘Sir, you may depend upon me.’ 

‘Sir, Iam much obliged. Your humble obedient.’ Mande- 
ville bowed, and opened the door to allow the chaplain to es- 
cape. 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR E77 


Myrtle advanced another step towards her father, where- 
upon he stirred, and turned to look at her again with eyes that 
were now blood-injected. 

“You treacherous, hypocritical wretch!’ he growled at her 
in a voice that was dull with pain and rage. ‘You infamous 
jade! To hoodwink us thus! To cozen us with lies! To tell us 
that you had broken with this scoundrel Latimer, and all the 
while to be planning this dastardy?’ 

‘That is not true, father. I have not been a hypocrite. 
When I told you that I had broken with Harry, I told you the 
truth.’ 

‘The truth! Do you still dare to stand there and lie to me 
after what you have done? Do you...’ 

‘Sir Andrew!’ Mandeville checked him, a hand upon his 
shoulder. ‘You are not being just. Things are not always 
what they seem.’ 

‘You'll tell me this marriage only seems a marriage! Don’t 
be a fool, Robert. We have a fact here, not mere words. A 
damnably scoundrelly fact.’ And he brought his great fist 
down upon the card-table. ‘Facts are not to be explained 
away by falsehood. They speak for themselves.’ 

‘Father, will you hear me?’ she spoke intrepidly; pale it is 
true she was; but she showed no other sign of fear. 

“What is there to hear from you? Can anything you say 
alter this detestable fact? You are married. Married to 
Harry Latimer, an ingrate, a rebel, a murderer, a man who 
has only just stopped short of threatening my life. And you 
are my daughter! My God!’ His hands, raised a moment as if 
in appeal to heaven, were lowered to his knees, and his chin 
sank into the lace of his bulging cravat. 

She told him everything: Her self-deception in thinking that 
her love for Harry was dead. Her discovery of the fact when 
his life was menaced. Her attempt to combat his obstinate 
refusal to save himself. 

‘I discovered from him then that his reasons were con- 


178 THE CAROLINIAN 


cerned with me, and with my conduct towards him. To re- 
move those reasons, so that he might depart while it was 
time, I gave him the only proof of my loyalty and devotion.’ 
' He turned violently to stare at her again. 

‘Your loyalty and devotion? Your loyalty and devotion to 
a rebel, a traitor? And what of your loyalty and devotion 
to your King? What of that?’ 

It seemed to him in his bigotry and fanaticism that he pre- 
sented a crushing argument, an unanswerable question. But 
she answered it, a little wan smile at the corners of her mouth. 

‘What is the King to me, after all? An idea. Little more 
than a word. Harry is a reality. He is the man I have loved 
from childhood. What are political opinions to me compared 
with the danger to his life? How do I know that he is wrong, 
that you are right?’ 

‘How do you know?’ he asked her, and repeated it with 
rising vehemence of incredulity. ‘How do you know?’ The 
blasphemy of the question appalled him. 

‘How, indeed? He is not the only rebel in America.’ 

‘No, by God!’ said Tom from the background. 

But no one heeded him. For Myrtle was continuing: 

‘Here in Charles Town all that is best and ablest is already 
ranged in opposition to the Royal Government. Are they all 
wrong? Are the few who think as you do so right that Harry 
is to be thrust out accurst because he has placed what he con- 
ceives to be his duty to his country above personal interest? 
That is what he has done. And when a man does that, it fol- 
lows, at least, that his convictions are sincere. You protest 
your duty and your loyalty. But what have you done to as- 
sist the cause that you hold up to.me asa religion? Harry has 
given ships, poured out his money, and risked his life to serve 
the faith he holds, the faith which you account contemptible. 
Have you spent a single shilling to support the tottering cause 
which you account so sacred?’ 

‘Stop!’ he commanded her, in a strangled voice. 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 179 


But she went relentlessly on. ‘A choice, a bitter cruel 
choice, was thrust upon me yesterday. I did not know what 
to think, what to believe, until it came to me that the test of 
the worth of your opinions, yours and Harry’s, lay in weighing 
what each of you had done for those opinions. After that, 
father, there remained with me only regret for the grief I 
might cause you by the step I was to take. Apart from that I 
had no single doubt, no single misgiving arising out of Harry’s 
political views.’ 

Carey was helpless, mentally battered in advance by the 
heavy guns of her arguments. Where he had thought to play 
the judge, the stern Rhadamanthus, it seemed that he was 
become the accused. He looked at Mandeville, whose mask- 
like face betrayed no emotion whatever. 

‘My God! He’s bewitched her!’ 

Mandeville made him no answer. His dark, penetrating 
eyes shifted to Myrtle, who shook her head as she smiled 
again that almost pathetic smile. 

‘Harry has scarcely spoken to me about these things. What 
I have told you are no more than my own thoughts.’ 

‘And now, madam, you’d best hear mine,’ her father an- 
swered grimly. ‘I don’t know how you planned this thing, or 
how far you were helped by your rebel friend Sally Izard and 
her brother there, who may tell her what I say. But I thank 
God for the merciful dispensation by which it has been made 
known to me in time.’ 

‘In time? In time for what?’ she asked him. 

‘In time to enable me to take my measures.’ He stood up, 
calmer now that he clearly saw his way to checkmate the 
guilty pair and nullify their act. ‘There’s one thing you’ve 
forgot. The marriage laws of the colony. You are not yet of 
age, Myrtle, and so you cannot make a valid marriage with- 
out my consent.’ He smiled maliciously. Almost it was a leer, 
‘You’d forgot that.’ 

And then, even before she answered, Mandeville under- 


180 THE CAROLINIAN 


stood why a British sloop should have been chosen for the 
marriage. 

‘No, father,’ she answered quietly. ‘We did not forget it. 
But the law of the colonies does not run on board an English 
ship. By the law of England my marriage is quite valid, and 
no power on earth can cancel it. The deck of the Tamar is 
England at law.’ 

Sir Andrew stiffened as understanding sank into his seeth- 
ing mind. For a moment he babbled furious incoHarceaeg 
Then he became intelligible again. 

‘It was that treacherous slut Sally Izard who canta 
this. You’d never have thought of it for yourself. That 
damned she-cat!’ 

Tom stepped forward. ‘Control yourself, Sir Andrew. You 
are speaking of my sister.’ 

‘You...’ In his fury words failed the Baronet. 

Then Mandeville, ever calm, intervened. 

‘You are speaking also of the Governor’s lady, Sir Andrew. 
If you were overheard...’ 

‘Damme! I mean to be overheard. I mean to tell her to her 
face what I think of her, and Lord William may call me out 
for it. What’s he, himself, but a doll on wires, a silly puppet in 
the hands of his rebel wife? A King’s representative! By 
God! They shall hear the truth...’ 

‘Sir Andrew! Sir Andrew! Calm, for God’s sake!’ Mande- 
ville implored him, with something imperative and dominat- 
ing in his voice. Pressing upon Sir Andrew’s shoulders, he al- 
most forced him down into the chair again. 

‘Leave me with him, please,’ Myrtle begged him. 

But that was the last thing Mandeville desired just 
then. 

‘Not now, Myrtle. Not now,’ he answered quietly. ‘In- 
deed, you would be much better advised to leave him to me.’ 
He stepped close to her, and sank his voice. ‘I think I can 
quiet him — make him see reason. Go now, and trust to me.’ 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 181 


He pressed her hand, and was conscious of a responsive pres- 
sure on his own. 

_ She needed a friend, just such a strong, calm friend as this. 
He drew her towards the door, and beckoned Tom Izard to 
escort her. 

“Trust me,’ he said again, as she was passing out. ‘I'll 
make your peace with him. All will be well, Myrtle.’ 

Trusting him, she went, with Tom, who did not trust him 
at all, but held his peace. 

Alone with the Baronet, Mandeville grew brisk. ‘Now, Sir 
Andrew, the harm is done; and repining over what is accom- 
plished never yet helped any man.’ 

‘I am in need of platitudes,’ Sir Andrew sneered. ‘They 
help a deal.’ 

“What’s to remember is that a thing done may be un- 
done.’ 

Now here was talk of quite a different kind. The Baronet 
looked up sharply. Mandeville continued, his voice soft and 
low: 

“Wives, Sir Andrew, can be widowed. And if Myrtle were 
widowed now, at this stage, scarcely wed as she is, the harm 
would be slight, indeed.’ 

‘If... Aye—if.’ Sir Andrew was staring at him. He 
stared long and hard, and it seemed to him that, although 
Mandeville’s lips remained tight, his dark, unfathomable 
eyes were smiling. Gradually it was borne in upon him that 
Mandeville was offering a practical suggestion. 

‘What do you mean?’ he asked at last, in a hushed voice. 

Mandeville answered very slowly, a man measuring out his 
words one at a time. ‘It is possible, Sir Andrew, that Myrtle 
is a widow already.’ He paused to sigh. ‘Poor Myrtle!’ 

Sir Andrew was trembling. ‘Will you be plain, man?’ 

‘Tf she is not a widow already, undoubtedly her widowhood 
will follow soon; and it is certain that she will never set eyes on 
Latimer again.’ 


182 THE CAROLINIAN 


He paused, and again he sighed, and made a little gesture 
of regret and helplessness. He would have preferred by much 
not to have been constrained to give Sir Andrew this news. 
But he saw no help for it if a terrible scene were to be avoided. 
For that Sir Andrew would, unless pacified, do as he threat- 
ened by Lady William, Mandeville could not doubt. Upon 
that must follow explanations which Mandeville had no de- 
sire to provoke. Therefore, he took this the only means of 
quieting the Baronet’s fury. 

‘In view of Latimer’s refusal to quit the province, Lord 
William has no choice but to proceed to extremes against him. 
But since to do so openly here in Charles Town might pro- 
voke a riot and bring about dreadful consequences to the 
Royal Government, which is not yet in case to assert its 
authority, Lord William has decided to have Latimer se- 
cretly arrested to-night and put on board a vessel to be taken 
to England for trial.’ 

If any doubts had remained with Mandeville that Sir An- 
drew’s affection for his adopted son had perished utterly, 
they would have been definitely shattered now by the expres- 
sion of savage satisfaction on the Baronet’s face. 

“Yes, yes? And... ?’ Sir Andrew asked him, clutching his 
arm. 

‘By this time the thing should be already done. If he gives 
no trouble . . . he will live to be tried and hanged in England.’ 
Mandeville’s tone was tinged with infinite regret. ‘In ob- 
taining him a respite in which to quit Charles Town, I had 
done all that man could to save him.... It was impossible 
that Lord William would further have heeded me if I had at- 
tempted to plead with him against dealing with Latimer in 
this fashion. Yet — for Myrtle’s sake and even for your own 
— I have regretted it until this moment.’ 

‘There was no occasion,’ growled Sir Andrew. 

‘So I now perceive. Indeed, I am glad that he is put away 
in this fashion.’ 


THE CHAPLAIN OF THE TAMAR 183 


‘It’s a dispensation of Providence,’ said the Baronet sol- 
emnly. 

‘Aye. Fate is not always quite so opportune. But you per- 
ceive, Sir Andrew, that there is no need for further trouble or 
excitation on your part. No need to embroil yourself by up- 
braiding Lady William.’ 

‘Oh! As to that...’ Sir Andrew rose. ‘I make no pro- 
mises. It is time, high time, some one spoke out. This woman 
in the position of a queen is a scandal in all loyal eyes. Her 
action to-day...’ 

‘Sir Andrew, wait! Consider!’ Mandeville laid a hand upon 
his shoulder, and looked squarely, gravely, into his face. 
‘You cannot make war on a woman without hurt to your 
dignity. But, further you cannot bring her ladyship to task 
without publishing this...this adventure of Myrtle’s. Do 
you wish to make it known that your daughter so far forgot 
her duty as to marry this notorious rebel? It is to put a blight 
upon her and upon yourself.’ 

It was a shrewd plea, and of immediate effect. 

‘You're right. But then... ?’ 

‘In view of what is happening to Latimer, this marriage 
will be as if it had never been, and no one need ever know of it. 
The few concerned in it are pledged to secrecy, and in a few 
days the only two men on the Tamar who are aware of what 
was done there this morning may have left these waters never 
to return. Why, then, injure Myrtle by a publication of... 
< 

‘Of this piece of infamy, you would say. Why, Robert, 
you are right, and I thank you for the warning. I’ll hold my 
tongue.’ 


CHAPTER XVII 
GROCKAT’S WHARF 


N the dining-room of his house on the Bay — the only 

room that was not already muffled and swaddled against 
the imminent evacuation — sat Harry Latimer alone at sup- 
per, waited upon by Hannibal, a stalwart and devoted young 
mulatto in his service. Julius, his butler, together with John- 
son, his valet, had already set out for Santee Broads, to see 
the house made ready to receive the bridal couple. With them 
they had taken Myrtle’s mauma Dido, who had earlier 
accompanied her mistress to Lady Wiliam Campbell’s. 

Mr. Latimer’s travelling-carriage stood ready in the coach- 
house, the luggage packed, and at eleven o’clock punctually, 
as he had ordered, the horses would be harnessed and they 
would set out to go post themselves by Saint Michael’s, 
opposite the State House, there to await Myrtle. 

As he was finishing his lonely supper, which is to say towards 
nine o’clock, Colonel Gadsden was announced. Gadsden had 
a ship that was sailing for England with the morning tide. 
He was on his way to her with letters, one of which from 
Henry Laurens was addressed to John Wilkes, that famous 
champion of the liberties of Englishmen wherever found. 

‘It’s a forlorn hope,’ he confessed. ‘But Wilkes has a way 
of compelling petitions to be received, and he has already ~ 
proved himself more than once the friend of America.’ 

That, however, was more or less by the way. The real | 
object of Gadsden’s visit was to place the service of his ship | 
at his friend’s disposal should Latimer have any letters for 
England. 

Mr. Latimer had not; but he was nevertheless grateful for 
the neighbourly offer, and he pressed the Colonel to join him © 
in a glass of Port. 


GROCKAT’S WHARF 185 


Colonel Gadsden took the chair that Hannibal proffered 
at his master’s bidding. 

‘But I must not stay a moment. There’s a wherry waiting 
for me at the wharf.’ 

Hannibal poured for him a glass of the red amber wine, 
brought out in Latimer’s own ships which traded to Portugal 
the rice of his plantations on the Santee. The Colonel held it 
up appreciatively to the candlelight, then sipped and com- 
mended it. 

‘You’re not at Miles Brewton’s ball?’ Latimer asked him. 

‘Not I, faith. What should I do at a ball in honour of King 
George? For it’s little less than that. The tories’ll be there in 
full force. Here’s perdition to them!’ And he drank, whilst 
Latimer laughed at the vehemence of his toast. ‘And so you’re 
leaving us, after all?’ The Colonel sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re 
wise. But, egad! it needed some such Roman gesture as you 
threatened, to put an end to this stagnation, to this eternal 
temporising of both sides.’ 

‘Let us hope that we may yet temporise into a peaceful 
settlement.’ 

‘A stale delusion,’ Gadsden condemned it. ‘And a delusion 
that holds us spellbound whilst opportunity is slipping by. 
This letter of Laurens’s to John Wilkes!’ He shrugged con- 
temptuously. ‘It expresses the hope of Laurens and some 
hundreds like him. They’re lukewarm, which means neither 
hot nor cold. A detestable condition, fit for weaklings. 
Laurens loves his country, and he’s loyal to our brother 
colonists in the North who have suffered. But he’s loyal, too, 
to his own interests, like so many other of these wealthy 
planters. And he does not yet see how his own interests will 
best be served.’ 

‘You can’t charge me with that,’ said Latimer. 

‘I know, lad, I know. Here’s to our next meeting!’ He 
finished his wine, and got up. 

‘When will that be?’ wondered Latimer. 


186 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Sooner than you think, perhaps. For if the drums beat, 
Moultrie tells me you’ve promised to serve under him, and 
they may beat very soon now.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good- 
bye, Harry. Good luck!’ 

But Latimer, who had also risen, went with him to the door, 
and after the Colonel’s departure stood a moment under the 
stars that were appearing in the darkening sky. Slowly he 
retraced his steps to the dining-room, and sat down to wait. 
An hour or so later, after he had read the week’s ‘ Gazette,’ 
and as he was considering seeking a book in the library, for it 
was yet a full hour before the time appointed to set out, 
Hannibal brought him a note that a messenger had just 
left. ; 

He broke the seal, and unfolded the sheet. Hastily scrawled 
upon it in pencil were the lines: ‘Please come to me at the 
earliest moment. I have news of utmost urgency for you. 
Very important.’ And under this the signature, big and bold, 
‘Henry Laurens.’ 

He stood considering. ‘You say the messenger has gone?’ 

“Yessah,’ replied Hannibal. 

Latimer thought it was odd that in such urgency as the 
note suggested, Laurens should not have come at once instead 
of sending for him. But perhaps there was some one else 
concerned. Some one who might be with Laurens. Anyway, 
he had better go. 

‘Get me my hat, Hannibal.’ 

Hannibal went out, and Mr. Latimer set down his pipe and 
followed him. In the hall the slave proffered him not only his 
hat, but his gloves and sword as well. He took the hat, and 
was waving the rest away, when he remembered a warning 
Moultrie had yesterday given him not to go abroad unarmed. 
So, changing his mind, he took the small sword, and hooked it _ 
into the carriages which he was wearing under his silver-laced _ 
black coat. 


‘Order the carriage to follow me to Mr. Laurens’s, and to — 


GROCKAT’S WHARF 187 


await me there. I shall not be returning. Come with it, and 
bring me what I may require. Tell Fanshaw I have gone.’ 

Fanshaw was Mr. Latimer’s factor, who, with his wife, 
would remain in charge of the Charles Town residence during 
Mr. Latimer’s absence. 

Outside the gates he turned to the right, and went briskly 
along the Bay towards the Governor’s Bridge. As he crossed 
the latter, the advance of the making tide was gurgling up 
the creek which it served to span. There was not a soul 
abroad, and the only sounds seemed to be from the water, 
where odd voices were to be heard calling to one another, and 
where lights dancing in the gloom indicated the positions of 
the ships at their moorings. 

Mr. Latimer passed Craven’s bastion without meeting any 
one, and he was just abreast of Wragg’s Alley, when abruptly 
from out of that narrow unlighted lane stepped a man, who 
hailed him by name. 

‘Mr. Latimer!’ 

Before he could reflect upon the oddness of his being 
recognized in the dark across the width of the street by a man 
who was no more than a black outline in his own eyes, he had 
halted and answered. 

‘Yes. Who is that?’ 

At once he realized his indiscretion, and something else 
besides. Behind him quickly advancing steps became 
suddenly audible, and he guessed immediately that he had 
been followed. At the same moment, almost as if his clear 
reply to the stranger’s hail had been a signal, four or five men 
came charging out of the blackness of Wragg’s Alley and 
across the Bay Street straight towards him. 

Mr. Latimer did not wait. He was off along the courtine 
lines running like a stag. He was agile, strong, and swift of 
foot, and he had the supreme advantage of being lightly shod. 
Away he sped, his feet scarce touching the ground, racing for 
Laurens’s house which was the first in the direction he was 


188 THE CAROLINIAN 


going and not above two hundred yards away. Behind him 
the blundering gallop of his heavy-footed pursuers was reced- 
ing as was the cursing Irish voice that was urging them on, 
and Harry Latimer laughed as he ran, accounting the race 
already over, although he had not yet covered more than half 
the distance. 

He was abreast of the dark and deserted Custom-House 
with the next bastion on his left when suddenly the laughter 
perished in him. Two men, who seemed to rise out of the 
ground, so sudden was their apparition, stood immediately 
ahead, and before he could check or swerve, he was carried by 
his own headlong impetus straight into their waiting arms. 

‘Got him!’ shouted one of his captors, but found breath for 
no more, for the captive writhing in their arms was not prov- 
ing easy to hold. They swayed halfway across the street in 
their struggles, and then, just as they imagined they were 
subduing him, he thrust violently and viciously upwards with 
his right knee and into the body of one of them, and sent the 
fellow reeling back and doubled up with pain. Thus released 
on the right side, he swung round in the grip of his other 
assailant, and broke the skin of his knuckles in a blow between 
the fellow’s eyes that stretched him on the ground. 

He was free of them. But the others were upon him in a 
bunch, and it was too late to resume his flight. At bay then, 
he swung his shoulders to the wall of the Custom-House, to 
protect his back, whipped out his sword, and pinked the thigh 
of the foremost of those who beset him. 

With a howl of pain the man fell back. His swiftly dealt 
wound and the lithe blade gleaming lividly in the gloom gave 
his companions pause. But there was another coming up 
who had followed more at leisure, and yet was not so easily 
intimidated. 

‘What’s this, ye blackguards?’ quoth that Irish voice. 
‘How many more of ye does it need to take a man?’ 

‘He’s armed, Major,’ said one of them. 


fx 


m = Pe 3 


Se ee 


a 


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GROCKAT’S WHARF 189 


‘Armed, is he? Stand away there, ye good-for-nothing 
omadhauns.’ 

There was the slither of a sword leaving its scabbard, a 
bulky figure advanced upon him, and the next moment 
Latimer’s blade was engaged by an energetic swordsman. 

It was almost instinctive fighting in which the eyes availed 
but little. But some little they did avail, and the advantage 
was heavily with Latimer, for such light as existed being 
behind his opponent, Latimer by crouching could make out 
enough to guide him, whilst himself against the background 
of the wall he must have been almost invisible. 

For a moment he had feared that a pistol might end the 
matter. But since this had not yet happened, he was now 
assured that they meant to do the business silently. He took 
heart at the reflection, and fought on, scarce daring for a 
moment to lose the feel of the opposing blade. 

And as he fought he wondered who might be his assailants. 
The others had addressed his present antagonist as ‘Major,’ 
and the man’s speech for all its brogue was of a quality that 
confirmed the title. Moreover, Latimer could make out the 
gleam of the gold-laced cuff and buttonholes and the white of 
the man’s small-clothes. — 

Was this something that was being done by order of Lord 
William? It seemed inconceivable. And yet, if it were not, 
how came a British officer engaged in it? They were questions 
that flitted in one second through Latimer’s mind, to be 
dismissed in the next. The first thing to be done was to settle 
this major’s account. The investigation of his identity and 
the rest could wait. To this first business Latimer addressed 
himself so aptly that it was done within a very few seconds of 
engaging. 

Realizing his disadvantage in the matter of light, the Major 
was in haste to be done. After a half-dozen groping passes in 
which the other’s blade clung tenaciously to his own, following 
it round insistently, the Major broke away with a violent 


190 THE CAROLINIAN 


forcing disengage, feinted high, and lunged. In the nick of 
time Latimer side-stepped, instinctively presenting his point 
to receive his antagonist. And receive him he did. The point 
of the Major’s unresisted weapon struck the wall. The sword 
bent double, under the weight of his following impetus, and 
snapped off short, whilst impaled through the stomach on the 
antagonist blade the same impetus carried him forward un- 
til his body brought up against Latimer’s hilt, and his face, 
a white mask, in which the open mouth and eyes made three 
black holes, was within a foot of Latimer’s. 

Latimer was conscious first of surprise, and then of nausea. 
Yielding to the latter, he thrust that body away from him, so 
violently and impetuously that he loosed his grasp of the 
sword. Carrying it with him, still impaling him, the Major 
toppled over backwards, and lay there on the kidney stones 
writhing and faintly moaning. 

Appalled and almost physically sick, Latimer leaned a 
moment against the wall. Then, as the voices of the men 
excited and objurgatory broke out about him, he roused him- 
self to a sense of his increased peril, now that he was disarmed. 
He bounded forward to resume his flight. But one of the 
ruffans who had come up with him, thrust out a leg to trip 
him, and he pitched forward at full length. Instantly there 
was a knee in the small of his back with the weight of a whole 
body resting upon it, and two pairs of hands were busy about 
him. Whilst he was thus pinned down, his arms were wrenched 
behind him, and his wrists tied with a thong of leather. 

Desperately he raised his head, and loosed one lusty shout 
for help. The next moment a muffler was wrapped about his 
mouth and nose so tightly that he could scarcely breathe. 
The two who had charge of him next tied his ankles fast to- 
gether, then rolled him over on to his back, and left him lying 
there whilst they went aside to the others who were kneeling 
about their fallen leader. 

One of the men whom Latimer had hurt was by now re- 


GROCKAT’S WHARF IQI 


covered, and had also joined that group, the other, on his feet 
again, was leaning still sick and faint against the Custom- 
House wall. 

If they had rendered Latimer helpless and dumb, at least 
they had not rendered him deaf, and their rough voices 
reached him where he lay. 

‘Is the Major much hurt?’ asked one of those who had been 
lately with Latimer. 

‘Hurt?’ growled another voice. ‘Hell! It’s killed he is. 
He’s got it in the guts.’ Oaths followed, vicious and obscene. 

All talked together explosively, until one who seemed to 
assume authority called them to some sort of order. 

‘Damn you, we can’t stay here to be caught. Pick him up, 
and carry him to the boat, and let’s fetch that blasted tyke 
along as well.’ 

Two of them came back to Latimer, and lifted him. Two 
others were doing the like by the Major. The one in authority 
crossed the street to the side of the bastion. There he halted, 
at fault. 

“Which way?’ he asked. 

‘Straight on to the wharf where we landed, of course.’ 

‘Are ye sure the boat’s waiting there?’ 

‘Where else, Tim ?’ 

‘Hell!’ swore Tim. ‘How do I know what orders the Major 
gave the boatman? The boat, maybe, was to have come up 
for us.’ They stood debating for some moments. It became 
clear that the Major’s insensibility left them in a quandary. 

‘God damn my soul!’ cried one. ‘Even if we find the boat, 
we don’t know where to take him.’ 

‘He was to ha’ been put aboard a ship for England,’ said 
— Tim. 

‘Aye. But what ship? There’s a mort o’ ships to choose 
from out yonder.’ 

‘Oh, heave him into the sea, and have done with it, damn 
him!’ growled another. 


192 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Wait, wait!’ Tim admonished them. ‘It might be awk- 
ward afterwards, seeing what’s happened to the Major, and 
us with him. Who’s to say we didn’t murder him ourselves? 
Cap’n Davenant’ll be asking questions when we gets back to 
the fort. Here, I have it! We'll take the ‘Blackguand to the 
fort, and let the Cap’n settle it. Come on.’ And he began to 
move away down the street. 

‘But where’s the boat, you fool?’ one of them shouted after 
him. 

‘We'll go back to the wharf where we landed. And keep a 
sharp lookout the whiles over the water.’ 

So they trudged on, bearing their two burdens, and, with- 
out meeting a soul on the way, past Laurens’s residence and 
on for a hundred yards or so until they came to Grockat’s 
Wharf, around the piles of which the waves of the making tide 
were being whipped by a quickening breeze. They turned on 
to this, glad to be off the street at last. The leader went first, 
then the two who carried Latimer, followed by the others 
bearing the Major. 

‘There she is!’ cried Tim. ‘You see I was right.’ 

Dimly at the far end of the wharf they could make out the 
lines of a wherry standing alongside, and the figures of one or 
two of the rowers were silhouetted in the light of a lantern 
glowing from the boat’s bottom. On the breeze came a mur- 
mur of voices. 

They hurried on towards the boat. In the sternsheets a man 
was standing, speaking to the crew. He paused as the new- 
comers advanced. And then the two of them that were 
handling Latimer swung him forward to the menin the wherry. 

‘Here y’are, damn you!’ shouted one of them in exaspera- 
tion. ‘Lend a hand!’ 

Three or four of those in the boat instinctively rose from 
their oars to receive the body that was almost being hurled at 
them. They caught it, and lowered it between thwarts. 

‘Fetch her up,’ Tim ordered at the same time. ‘The 


GROCKAT’S WHARF 193 


Major’s hurt. Let’s set him down in the stern. Come on, 
there!’ 

The man who was standing in the sternsheets stooped and 
picked up the lantern. 

‘Now, who the devil may you be?’ he asked, and swung the 
light aloft to cast it upon their countenances. 

What he saw was no great matter. What they saw by the 
light of that raised lantern was a gold-laced coat —a blue 
coat with scarlet facings and golden shoulder-knots, the 
uniform of a colonel of the army of the Provincial Congress. 
And above the stiff high collar they beheld a grim grey hawk 
face that was entirely strange to them. 

“Hell and the devil!’ said the wooden-headed Tim, realizing 
the blunder they had made in the dark. And incontinently 
he turned and fled as fast as his legs could carry him up the 
wharf. After him, as if Satan were behind them, went his 
fellows, leaving the Major’s weltering body where they had 
dropped it in their sudden panic. 

“What the devil... ?’ the man in uniform was beginning, 
when he cropped the question, and bawled an order instead: 
‘Up, and after them!’ 

In a moment his six negroes were out of the boat. But an- 
other shout from their master arrested them. He had lowered 
the lantern to the face of the man who lay almost at his feet. 
In a moment he had removed the muffler from the captive’s 
face. 

‘Latimer!’ he cried. 

And Latimer, lying there helpless, laughed up at him, out 
of a countenance that was ghastly. 

‘It’s lucky for me you had letters for England to-night, 
Colonel Gadsden,’ he said. 


CHAPTER XVIII 
THE PISTOL-SHOT 


ND this,’ said Latimer, between scorn and amusement, 
‘is how King George’s representative keeps faith. On 
my soul, it’s worthy of King George himself.’ 

He and Gadsden were kneeling on the wharf beside the 
prostrate and inanimate body of Major Sykes, fully revealed 
to them in the light of the Colonel’s lantern. 

‘If Hannibal hadn’t thrust a sword into my hand at the last 
moment, I suppose I should be on my way to England now.’ 
He got up. ‘I’m afraid the poor wretch is sped.’ 

‘Don’t plague yourself about him,’ said Gadsden. ‘My 
men’ll see to him. What of yourself? You were best away, I 
think.’ 

‘Yes, but not until I’ve seen the Governor. I owe him an 
explanation of how I killed a British officer, and perhaps he 
will offer me one of how this British officer came to meddle 
with me, when I had his lordship’s word for it that no action 
would be taken until to-morrow morning.’ 

‘Aye,’ said Gadsden. ‘Ye’re right. Ye don’t want to be 
pursued for murder.’ 

They set out. But they went on foot no farther than Mr. 
Laurens’s house, outside which Latimer’s travelling-carriage 
was now waiting with Hannibal in attendance. They climbed 
into it as eleven o’clock was chiming from Saint Philip’s, and 
drove straight to the State House. 

Latimer would have gone at once into the ballroom in his 
quest for the Governor. But in the hall, untenanted at the 
moment save by a half-dozen negro lackeys, who stared round- 
eyed at his dishevelled appearance, Gadsden stayed him. 

“Look at yourself, man. D’ye think ye’re a sight for the 
ladies?’ 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 195 


And only then did Latimer seem to become conscious of his 
condition. Stained almost from head to foot in mud and 
blood, his head unkempt, one of his stockings torn, and a rent 
in the back of his brave coat of black corded silk with silver 
lace and purple linings, he was a terrifying spectacle. 

He remained, therefore, in the hall, whilst Gadsden went to 
find the Governor. A dance was in progress, and his excellency 
was engaged in it. So, of necessity, Gadsden must wait, 
whilst Latimer paced the hall. 

But not for long was he alone. Down the stairs presently 
from the buffet above came Colonel Moultrie with Mrs. 
Brewton, and then Lady William with young Drayton, and 
following almost immediately Myrtle herself on the arm of 
Tom Izard. Behind these there were two or three other 
couples, and all of them stood at gaze appalled and terrified by 
Mr. Latimer’s appearance. 

Myrtle ran to him in terror, Lady William and Tom Izard 
following closely. 

‘What’s happened? Harry! Why are you like this?’ 

You conceive the bombardment of startled questions he was 
constrained to stand. 

‘It’s nothing. A trifling accident.’ 

“You’re not hurt, Harry?’ Myrtle cried. 

He reassured her, and whilst doing so he perceived that her 
sudden advent which at first had vexed him was, indeed, most 
opportune. He drew her aside a little, and lowered his voice, 
so that his words were for her alone. 

‘My carriage is at the door, Myrtle. Hannibal is there. 
This is your opportunity. Slip into it, and wait for me. I'll 
join you in a moment, as soon as I have had a word with Lord 
William.’ 

Momentary excitement and concern turned her pale. She 
had not seen her father since their interview in the little ante- 
room. Indeed, he had appeared to avoid her. But Mandeville 
had assured her that all was well; that he had pacified Sir 


196 THE CAROLINIAN 


Andrew, and that she need fear no violent outburst. And she 
had thanked Mandeville from a heart that was full of grati- 
tude for his concern and kindliness. 

She nodded now to Harry, her eyes considering him with 
tender wistfulness. She would take her opportunity, she as- 
sured him, of slipping out unobserved. He should find her in 
the carriage when he came, and then he must tell her what had 
happened, who had attacked him. 

The opportunity was not long delayed. Presently the 
music ceased, and a moment or two later Gadsden appeared 
at the door of the main anteroom, beckoning Latimer for- 
ward. He went, the others following. Myrtle lagged behind 
with Lady William until all had passed in, theh Lady William 
hugged her an instant. 

‘Bless you, child! Be happy!’ 

She kissed her, and Myrtle was gone speeding out and down 
the steps to the carriage, into which Hannibal, grinning widely 
in welcome, assisted her. 

And, meanwhile, Lord William was advancing to meet ‘Mr. 
Latimer, and his eyes opened wide with astonishment as he 
surveyed the gentleman’s disordered appearance. 

‘Mr. Latimer, what is this?’ 

‘The result of what appears, but which I cannot believe to 
be, a breach of faith on the part of your excellency. An at- 
tempt was made to-night to seize me and put me on board a 
ship for England.’ 

There was a burst of indignation from Moultrie and Dray- 
ton, who stood behind him, and a general murmur from others 
who were flowing into the anteroom and halting there at 
gaze. Amongst them, indeed, in the foremost ranks, were Sir 
Andrew Carey, with Stuart, the Indian Agent, and Anthony 
Fletchall, the back-country tory leader. Immediately behind 
Carey, and sharing his disgusted astonishment, but manifest- 
ing it less freely, was Mandeville. Others from the ballroom 
were pressing forward behind them, and it was with difficulty 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 197 


that a posse of lackeys in gorgeous liveries bearing trays of 
Sillery were able to circulate and draw attention to the re- 
freshment which they offered. 

Lord William fell back a step in sheer amazement at Lati- 
mer’s words. Then he collected himself. 

‘I am relieved, sir, that you do not impute to any orders of 
mine an attack, whose object I imagine you are assuming.’ 

‘T am not assuming it, Lord William. Colonel Gadsden has 
seen enough to be able to bear me out in part. The intention 
was as I have said. I overheard it among the men who took 
me, and they were led by a British officer.’ 

‘That I cannot believe.’ The Governor’s face flushed 
scarlet. Sternly he voiced a sudden suspicion: ‘Mr. Latimer, 
is this an attempt to stir up feeling... ?’ 

But Latimer unceremoniously interrupted him. 

‘Your excellency, the body of that British officer will bear 
witness to what I say. It is lying now on Grockat’s Wharf.’ 

‘Aye,’ said Gadsden. ‘I’ve seen it, and seen the men who 
carried it.’ 

“You... killed him?’ 

‘I had that misfortune. In my own defence.’ 

There was hubbub now among the tories and among sev- 
eral officers of the Tamar who were present. But his lordship 
quelled it, raising his hand. 

‘Who was this officer? Do you know?’ 

Gadsden answered him: ‘Major Sykes, from Fort Johnson. 
I had better tell your lordship what I witnessed of this affair.’ 
And he related how the men had brought Latimer bound and 
gagged, and had dropped him into the wrong boat. ‘But for 
that mistake, your excellency,’ Gadsden ended with a certain 
grim aggressiveness, whose significance there was no mistak- 
ing, ‘it is unlikely that Mr. Latimer would ever have been 
heard of again.’ 

The high colour remained in his lordship’s face; but its ex- 
pression grew troubled; almost he had a guilty look, for the 


198 THE CAROLINIAN 


mention of the officer’s identity brought back to his mind the 
thing that had yesterday been suggested in Sykes’s presence. 

Into Carey’s ear Mandeville whispered at that moment. 
‘For his own sake, he must disclaim all knowledge of it.’ 

And even as he spoke, the Governor turned to seek him 
among the gaping crowd. 

‘Captain Mandeville!’ 

Mandeville stepped forward, graceful and unperturbed. 

‘Do you know anything of this?’ the Governor demanded. 

‘I?’ quoth Mandeville. ‘No more than your excellency.’ 

But he was not to escape so easily. ‘That’s an equivocal 
answer, Captain Mandeville,’ said Moultrie sharply. 

A hand fell on the Colonel’s sleeve. He turned, and there 
beside him, stern and impassive, stood John Rutledge, with 
obvious intent to restrain him from adding fuel to this already 
ample blaze. But Moultrie, indignant and concerned for his 
friend, for once shook off the arm of the lawyer with impa- 
tience. 

And meanwhile Mandeville had drawn himself up, and was 
looking down his nose at the colonial officer. 

‘Colonel Moultrie, I have not the habit of equivocation.’ 

‘I know nothing of your habits, and care less,’ the Colonel 
answered him. ‘But I know an equivocation when I hear it.’ 

Lord William intervened. The atmosphere was becoming 
dangerously charged. ‘The equivocation will be removed, I 
think, if I assert to you on my honour, Mr. Latimer, that it 
was by no orders of mine that this thing happened, and that I 
know nothing whatever of how it came about.’ 

‘Will your excellency go so far as to reprobate it?’ Latimer 
asked him as courteously as such a question could be asked. 

‘Sincerely,’ was the prompt and emphatic reply. ‘And I 
shall not rest until I have discovered what is behind it.’ 

Mr. Latimer bowed. ‘I thank your excellency. I have re- 
ported the event, and rendered the immediate account of it 
which my departure from Charles Town makes necessary. If 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 199 


your excellency has no further questions for me, perhaps you 
will give me leave to withdraw.’ 

‘Assuredly, Mr. Latimer.’ And his excellency slightly in- 
clined his head. 

Mr. Latimer bowed a second time, and turned to depart. 
But departure was not quite so easy. There were friends be- 
hind him waiting to congratulate him on his escape, and there 
was Rutledge with a sharp reprimand. 

‘You see, sir, the perils into which your rashness is plunging 
not only yourself but all of us.’ 

Latimer smiled. He was very weary, and suddenly con- 
scious of his weariness now that the excitement sustaining 
him had passed. 

‘I hope that my departure will restore to Charles Town the 
peace of which, with the possible exception of King George, I 
appear to be the only disturber.’ 

He passed on to be detained by others, and there was 
Moultrie assuring him that he would soon be back. ‘When 
you hear-my drums, there’ll be a place for you, Harry. And 
don’t bear Rutledge any ill-will. He’s a curmudgeon. But 
honest.’ 

Meanwhile, behind him, at the other end of the anteroom, 
where the crowd had melted a little, so that the lackeys with 
the Sillery were now circulating more freely, the Governor was 
finding himself beset by a knot of hostile tories led by Carey. 

‘Does your excellency really mean,’ the Baronet was asking 
truculently, ‘that a British officer may be murdered in the 
streets, and his murderer allowed to go his ways?’ He was 
livid with anger and with something more than anger. 

Lord William’s manner was gravely, sadly tolerant. ‘The 
evidence is against you, Sir Andrew. No British officer has 
been murdered. Mr. Latimer killed a British officer in self- 
defence. You heard the account of it from Colonel Gadsden.’ 

‘Your lordship accepts the word of open and acknowledged 
rebels against...’ 


200 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Sir Andrew, I think you are presuming,’ his lordship in- 
terrupted him. 

‘It is your excellency who compels it.’ 

‘I would, sir, I could as easily compel you to remember 
your manners.’ And his lordship turned his shoulder upon 
the Baronet, to take a glass of Sillery from the tray a servant 
was proffering. Then deliberately he addressed himself to 
Laurens, who was standing near. 

Sir Andrew fell back a step, clenching his hands. He looked 
a mute appeal at Mandeville. Mandeville imperceptibly 
raised his eyebrows, and as imperceptibly shrugged. Sir An- 
drew understood that he must depend upon himself alone. 
Latimer was more than halfway across the room already on 
his journey to the door. Towards that same door the Baronet 
now circuitously but quickly made his way. A servant ap- 
proached him with a tray of wine. He was beginning to wave 
the man away when suddenly he checked the gesture. In- 
spiration gleamed in his full eyes. He took up a glass, and 
Mr. Latimer, turning at that moment, came face to face with 
him. For a moment Mr. Latimer stood, returning the Bar- 
onet’s intent regard. Then he bowed to him, and would have 
passed on. But Sir Andrew’s words arrested him. 

‘You are leaving us, Mr. Latimer?’ The voice was smooth, 
and yet there was a note in it that stirred Moultrie and 
brought him in quick strides to the side of his friend. 

‘I am just going, Sir Andrew.’ 

‘But surely you will stay to drink first a loyal toast?’ And 
Sir Andrew waved towards him the servant with the tray of 
glasses. 

Latimer scented mischief, and for an instant hesitated, 
looking at Carey as if to fathom his purpose. Then, deeming 
that here unquestioning submission was the shortest and 
safest course, he took up a glass. 

‘A loyal toast?’ he questioned. He added with a lightness 
he was very far from feeling: ‘With all my heart, or any other 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 201 


toast.’ And he quoted: ‘I warrant ’twill prove an excuse for 
the glass.’ 

There was the slightest pause, in which Sir Andrew seemed 
yet again to be measuring the young man with his eyes. Then 
slowly, solemnly, almost pompously, he raised his glass. Lord 
William, across the room, upon which a silence had unac- 
countably fallen, stood very straight and stiff, considering the 
Baronet. To him this seemed the prelude of some indefinable 
impertinence. Moultrie took a glass of Sillery from the tray 
that was thrust before him. The others, already supplied, 
stood waiting a little curiously for the toast. 

‘Gentlemen,’ said Sir Andrew, with the least suspicion of 
pompousness: ‘the King! God save the King!’ 

Proposed at such a time and in such a place — with so 
many present who were actively engaged in opposing those 
measures for the subjugation of the colonies which emanated 
from the King himself — this was not so much a toast as a 
challenge. But all were concerned to keep the peace. And so, 
loyal and rebel alike, murmured in chorus: ‘The King!’ and 
drank with Sir Andrew. 

Under cover of that murmur, Moultrie had whispered 
imperatively to Latimer: ‘Drink!’ 

But even without that injunction it is unlikely that Lati- 
mer would have rendered himself conspicuous by refusing the 
toast. He had undergone enough that night to desire above 
everything the avoidance of further trouble. And so, after 
the least pause, in which he was questioning himself on the 
subject of Sir Andrew’s purpose, he, too, muttered ‘The 
King!’ and drained his glass. 

Sir Andrew lowered his own, still half full of wine, and 
looked at Mr. Latimer with narrowing eyes. 

‘You had no compunction, Mr. Latimer, in honouring that 
toast?’ 

Mr. Latimer smiled, for all that by now the scent of 
danger was breast-high with him. ‘None,’ he said lightly. 


202 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘God save the King, by all means. He stands in need of 
saving.’ 

‘From his enemies, you mean?’ 

‘No, sir; from his friends.’ 

It was a plain enough allusion to that party known as ‘the 
King’s friends’ through whom King George ruled the empire 
in violation of the established system of placing the govern- 
ment in the hands of the majority party in Parliament. And 
it is to be doubted if it was resented by any one present, not 
excluding Lord William. It was sufficient, however, and more 
than sufficient for Sir Andrew’s purpose. 

‘That,’ he said, ‘is a treasonable speech.’ And on the 
words, he flung the remaining contents of his glass full in the 
face of Mr. Latimer. 

‘Sir Andrew!’ It was Lord William who spoke, advancing, 
and almost thrusting himself between the two. His voice was 
charged with reproachful indignation, and of reproachful 
indignation were the murmurs that arose from every member — 
of that company. 

Some thoughtfully hustled the few ladies into the ballroom, 
and closed the door. Lady William, however, declining to be 
hustled, remained there with Miss Ravenell beside her. 

Moultrie set a hand upon Latimer’s shoulder to restrain 

him, to urge him at all costs to refrain from being entangled 
in a quarrel. It was hardly necessary. White and trembling, 
-yet Mr. Latimer preserved his self-command. He drew a fine 
handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his dripping cheek. 

‘You won’t wipe that off with a handkerchief, my friend,’ 
Sir Andrew goaded him, rather coarsely. 

He looked at Sir Andrew. Then half-turned to the others 
present, and made them an inclusive bow. 

‘I take my leave,’ he said, and moved to depart, Moultrie 
making shift to go with him. 

But Sir Andrew resolutely, fiercely, barred his way. 

‘No, by God!’ 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 203 


‘Sir Andrew!’ Again it was Lord William who intervened, 
stepping up to Carey as he did so. ‘Are you out of your senses, 
sir? Deliberately you provoked Mr. Latimer, and in the face 
of that provocation, Mr. Latimer perhaps spoke foolishly — 
affording you the pretext you were seeking. But you shall 
push this matter no further. You shall respect his forbearance 
as we all do.’ 

‘Forbearance!’ Sir Andrew laughed unpleasantly. ‘Here’s 
a new name for cowardice. And do you make yourself a 
shield for cowards, Lord William, as well as for rebels and 
murderers?’ 

‘Sir Andrew, you forget, I think, to whom you speak.’ 
Very dignified and stern the young Governor towered there 
beside him. But the tory fanatic and outraged father in one 
flung off the last rag of restraint. 

‘Your lordship places me under that necessity. I did not 
invite your intervention in my quarrel. Nor do I think did 
Mr. Latimer, though I’ve no doubt the cur will welcome it.’ 

‘Sir Andrew, you push things too far!’ cried Latimer, and 
there was no lack of voices to approve him. 

‘Please, please, Mr. Latimer.’ His excellency raised a 
hand to restrain him, then turned again to the wrathful 
Baronet. ‘Sir Andrew, Mr. Latimer has an engagement of 
honour with me, an engagement to be gone from Charles 
Town before morning. From that engagement I cannot, for 
reasons of high policy, release him, so that in no case would 
it be possible for Mr. Latimer to remain to meet any ... other 
engagement to-morrow.’ 

‘There is not the need to wait until to-morrow,’ Carey 
answered. ‘If Mr. Latimer possesses the courage which he is 
so reluctant to display, let him meet me here and now.’ 

Burning with shame and anger, Latimer turned to the 


faithful friend beside him. 


‘Moultrie, this is intolerable! He places me under the 
absolute necessity of proving my courage.’ 


204 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘He does not, Mr. Latimer,’ his lordship answered him. 
‘None present doubts your courage, rest assured.’ 

‘He’d be glad enough to rest in that assurance,’ mocked 
Sir Andrew. ‘ But there again your lordship exceeds authority. 
I doubt his courage, for one.’ 

The Governor looked at him a moment, sternly. 

‘Sir Andrew, you compel me to exercise my jurisdiction. 
In the King’s name I forbid you to meet Mr. Latimer.’ 

Sir Andrew met the command with a burst of laughter, loud 
and offensively derisive. 

‘In the King’s name! In the King’s name! That’s choice, 
damme! In the King’s name you forbid me to punish an 
insult to the King’s majesty! I wonder what the King would 
think of his vicegerent in South Carolina.’ Then, controlling 
his insolent mirth, he added, almost formally: ‘I must remind 
your excellency that you are a guest like myself, and that 
your warrant does not run here.’ 

‘You refuse to recognize my authority?’ Lord William’s 
head was haughtily thrown back, his face slightly flushed. 

Sir Andrew bowed ironically. ‘With the utmost respect, 
my lord, when that authority is exercised to shelter a rebel 
and a coward, I have no choice but to disregard it.’ 

Angry voices broke from almost every pair of lips. But the 
old tory confronted them defiantly, scornfully, sure of his 
ground, upon which he was unassailable. 

The flush deepened in Lord William’s cheeks. 

‘T have not the power to order your arrest, Sir Andrew. You 
have given as yet no cause for that. But I warn you, sir, that 
if this quarrel, so wantonly provoked by you, goes forward, 
you shall feel to the utmost the weight of the law. Pray do 
not interrupt me. Since you have put upon me this affront, it 
is impossible for me to remain. Gentlemen’ — and he bowed 
to the company present — ‘I regretfully take my leave of 
you. Captain Mandeville will present my apologies to the 
assembly. A slight indisposition on the part of her ladyship 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 205 


has compelled us both to withdraw rather earlier than we had 
hoped.’ He turned to her ladyship, proffering his arm. ‘My 
dear.’ 

He was so dignified, so much the royal personage in that 
moment, that those whom he addressed realized fully that he 
withdrew to avoid embroiling himself in a vulgar dispute 
derogatory to his office; therefore, no attempt was made to 
persuade him from a course announced with such utter 
finality. Even Lady William felt herself powerless to inter- 
vene, despite every impulse to do so. 

All but Sir Andrew, who remained erect in his defiance, 
bowed low in response, and remained bowed until, with Lady 
William on his arm and followed by Captain Tasker and Miss 
Ravenell, Lord William had passed out into the hall beyond. 
Then the men who were left behind — and they numbered 
close upon a score — loosed their anger upon Sir Andrew. 
But he remained disdainfully indifferent. They might make 
themselves as hoarse as they pleased with invective and 
insult so long as he had his way with Mr. Latimer. 

When this was realized, those present resigned themselves 
to being spectators of a settlement now inevitable. But when 
it came to finding a friend to act for Sir Andrew, there was 
only one man present who would undertake the office. This 
was Anthony Fletchall; and although as stout a tory as Carey 
himself, he undertook this office only after considerable 
pressure. There had been a little flash of anger from Carey 
when Mandeville had refused. But Mandeville had brushed 
this smooth. 

‘As your kinsman, Sir Andrew, it is almost my duty to 
stand by you. But as Lord William’s equerry, it is my duty 
to hold aloof. I am in an impossible position.’ 

Nevertheless, it was Mandeville who despatched the staring 
and startled lackey for a certain mahogany case in the keep- 
ing of Mrs. Pratt, the custodian of the State House. 

When the case, which contained a brace of duelling-pistols, 


206 THE CAROLINIAN 


was produced, it was taken by Mr. Fletchall to Colonel 
Moultrie. The latter was standing beside Latimer, who, in 
the background to which he had retired, had flung himself 
into a chair, where he sat, elbows on knees, in an attitude of 
complete dejection. After what already he had endured that 
night, to be compelled to meet his father-in-law, and one 
who had stood to him in the past in the relationship almost of 
a father, was something altogether intolerable. He sat there 
sunk in misery, resolved that, in spite of everything, and 
whatever might be thought of him, he would yet avoid this 
meeting. He was roused by the voice of Moultrie raised in 
sharp expostulation. 

‘But what is this, sir?’ the Colonel was exclaiming. ‘Pistols! 
We have not asked for pistols.’ 

Latimer looked up, and spoke. ‘We have not asked for 
anything at all. We do not meet Sir Andrew Carey.’ He 
rose. ‘Mr. Fletchall, if you will be good enough to ask Sir 
Andrew to step across to me, I shall hope to prove to him 
that we cannot meet.’ 

‘In the present position that would scarcely be regular,’ 
ventured Mr. Fletchall. 

‘IT care nothing for that. Something very much graver is 
involved.’ 

Fletchall bowed and went his errand, and Sir Andrew came 
in answer to the request, and stood in assumed calm before 
him. 

‘Sir Andrew,’ said Mr. Latimer, for all to hear, ‘a meeting 
between us is impossible. You had better know the truth. 
Myrtle and I were married this morning.’ 

He had thought to fling a bombshell, and he had expected 
outbursts, rage, incredulity; anything, indeed, but the answer 
he received: 

‘That, sir, is but an added reason. I do not desire a rebel 
for a son-in-law; and even more’ — he raised his voice — ‘I 
do not desire a coward for one.’ 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 207 


Latimer looked at him with eyes of despair. The stream of 
destiny was too strong for him. It was idle to continue to 
swim against it. 

‘Please conclude the arrangements, Moultrie. Let us get it 
over.’ 

Sir Andrew withdrew again, and Moultrie renewed the 
discussion. 

‘But pistols — indoors! It is unheard of. It is monstrous, 
unthinkable. We demand swords.’ 

One of his reasons for this insistence was that, if swords 
were used, he was sure that Latimer could contrive to take no 
harm himself and to do no great hurt to Sir Andrew. But 
Mr. Fletchall had his instructions, and he clung to them 
obstinately. 

‘You are not in the right to demand. The choice of weapons 
is with us. We are the challenged side.’ 

‘I heard no challenge...’ Moultrie was retorting, and 
then Latimer cut in. 

‘Oh, have done, William. Let us get it over.’ 

‘But they demand pistols!’ Moultrie was reduced almost 
to frenzy. 

“Then let them have pistols. What the devil does it 
matter?’ 

‘Matter? Why, there’s the question of distance.’ And he 
swung to Fletchall. ‘What distance do you propose?’ he 
asked, expecting to checkmate the other side. 

But Mr. Fletchall, a short, stoutish man of forty with a 
phlegmatic countenance, was not even embarrassed. He 
measured the room with a calm eye. 

‘Considering the space, we suggest ten paces.’ 

Moultrie laughed angrily. ‘Pistols at ten paces! D’ye hear 
that, Harry? At ten paces!’ 

‘Across a handkerchief if they like,’ snapped Mr. Latimer. 

‘But it’s murder.’ 

‘Faith, have you only just discovered it?’ 


208 THE CAROLINIAN 


The music in the ballroom had been resumed by musicians 
in complete ignorance that anything untoward was taking 
place. 

And then some one, whose nerves were being fretted, cried 
out that it should be stopped, and some one else would have 
departed to obey the demand, when Rutledge got in the way. 

‘By no means,’ he said. ‘The ladies must not be further 
alarmed. They will be alarmed as it is, soon enough.’ And he 
suggested, indeed, that, if the affair was to go on, the parties 
had better remove themselves elsewhere. But Carey would 
not hear of it. He cared nothing, he announced, for the 
feelings of any rebel, man or woman, and none but a rebel 
could do other than rejoice in the punishment of a rebel. 
Here, where Mr. Latimer had offended, let Mr. Latimer 
expiate. 

The end of it was that Rutledge turned the key in the door 
leading to the ballroom whilst the pistols were being loaded 
at a console by Fletchall and Moultrie acting jointly. 

At the end of what seemed an age to Mr. Latimer, Colonel 
Moultrie beckoned him forward to the middle of the room, 
whither Fletchall was also conducting his principal. 

‘We propose, gentlemen,’ said Fletchall, ‘to place you back 
to back. You will advance five paces, in a measure as they are 
counted, towards the corner which each of you is facing.’ He 
turned. Thornborough, tall and elegant in his naval blue-and- 
white, stood immediately behind him. ‘Captain Thorn- 
borough, perhaps you will oblige by counting.’ 

The sailor drew back a little, and a look of repugnance 
crossed his sunburnt, aquiline face. 

‘IT should prefer . . .’ He was beginning. Then he shrugged. 
‘Oh, as well I as another.’ 

When the men were in position, back to back, their swords 
surrendered formally to their seconds, Captain Thornborough 
stepped forward. 

‘Gentlemen, as Mr. Fletchall has said, you will pace your 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 209 


distance in a measure as I count. On the count of “‘five”’ you 
will take your last pace, turn, and fire.’ 

And whilst Colonel Moultrie advanced with the loaded 
pistols, giving Mr. Latimer the first choice as was his right, 
Captain Thornborough admonished the onlookers. 

‘Let me beg of you, gentlemen, to stand back, well out of 
the line of sight, and to guard against the slightest movement 
that might serve to draw the eye of either principal.’ He 
waited until all those present, including the seconds, were 
“ranged far enough back to satisfy him. ‘Now, gentlemen, if 
you are ready...’ He paused a moment, taking a couple of 
backward paces, and began the count: ‘One — two — three 
eeetour — five.’ 

On the word, and at the end of the diagonal line in which 
they had paced away each from the other, the men swung 
round, face to face across the room. But only one of them, 
and that one was Carey, raised his arm. He raised it, slowly, 
deliberately, covering his opponent, who stood tense and 
straight to receive a fire which he was making no shift what- 
ever toreturn. And then in the very moment that Sir Andrew 
drew the trigger, the door leading to the hall, which they had 
neglected to secure, was flung open with a crash, and Myrtle, 
in cloak and wimple, stood white and scared on the threshold. 

In the same instant Sir Andrew’s pistol spoke. But the 
interruption at the critical moment, whilst too late to arrest 
the shot, yet served to draw his eye and disturb his cold- 
blooded, deliberate aim. His pistol jerked up by the fraction 
of an inch at the last moment delivered its bullet into the long 
mirror above the console at Latimer’s back, and shivered the 
glass from top to bottom. 

In two strides Captain Thornborough was at Myrtle’s side. 
Rendered immovable by horror, she stood there, staring. But 
just as she made no attempt to advance farther, neither did 
she yield to the Captain’s half-hearted endeavours to induce 
her to withdraw. 


210 THE CAROLINIAN 


It was a situation more painful, probably, than any man 
present had ever borne part in before or would ever bear part 
in again. 

And then the voice of Fletchall was sternly raised, and 
sounded oddly loud in the sudden silence which no one had 
until this moment perceived. For in the ballroom the music 
had ceased abruptly on the firing of the shot, and was suc- 
ceeded there by a momentary stillness of question and alarm. 

‘Mr. Latimer, we are waiting for your fire.’ 

‘You need wait no longer,’ said Mr. Latimer, whose pistol 
hand had remained hanging inert beside him throughout. ‘I 
do not intend to fire.’ 

There was an outcry of protest from the men present, 
mingling with the din of voices swelling up now in the ball- 
room. Some one was beating on the door. But none present 
heeded that. 

Mr. Latimer addressed himself to the sailor who in some 
sense had acted as master of the ceremonies. 

‘Captain Thornborough, Sir Andrew’s aim was disturbed 
by the opening of the door.’ 

‘The circumstance is unfortunate. But inasmuch as neither 
of you were parties to it, it does not affect your position. You 
must take your shot.’ 

‘I must take it?’ 

And it was Fletchall who answered him, the trembling of 
his voice betraying his nervous tension. 

‘You have no alternative. To have retained it so long . . 
damme! it isn’t decent.’ 

‘I suppose that I am within my rights, my strict rights, in 
retaining my fire as long as I please?’ 

There was a pause before any dared pronounce a decision 
that really demanded consideration by a court of honour. 
Then, since no one else attempted to reply, Captain Thorn- 
borough took it upon himself to give judgment. 

‘Within your strict rights, no doubt, Mr. Latimer. But, as 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 211 


Mr. Fletchall has said, it is hardly decent. There are times 
when to stand upon our strict rights...’ 

Peremptorily Mr. Latimer interrupted him. He was smil- 
ing, his head thrown back, completely master of himself 
again, now that he was master of the situation. And Myrtle, 
watching him, leaned her tortured spirit confidently upon his 
own, and felt her terrors_lessening. 

‘I am concerned only with my strictest rights, gentlemen. 
Decency has had no part in this affair. Upon my strictest 
rights I intend to stand. Since I must take my shot, I will 
take it...’ He paused deliberately, smiled again and even 
inclined his head a little, ‘. . . some other day.’ 

There was an echoing chorus of amazement, dominated by 
Sir Andrew’s voice: 

‘Some other day!’ 

‘At my convenience,’ added Mr. Latimer emphatically; 
and deliberately he stepped forward, abandoning the position 
to which he had paced, and proffering the unfired pistol to 
Colonel Moultrie. ‘It is a debt between Sir Andrew Carey 
and myself. A debt which I reserve the right to claim or not, 
like any other debt.’ 

‘You damned scoundrel!’ thundered Sir Andrew, as a 
beginning to a torrent of invective, and, reversing his pistol so 
as to convert it into a club, he would have hurled himself upon 
Latimer but that Christopher Gadsden and three or four 
others laid hands upon him and restrained him by main force. 

Some one had unlocked the door of the ballroom, con- 
ceivably to prevent its being broken down, and now on the 
threshold surged a crowd of gallants and ladies, arrested there 
by the spectacle of that burly man writhing in the arms of his 
captors and still uttering furious vituperation. 

Mr. Latimer, accompanied by Moultrie, crossed to the 
door, where Myrtle stood. ‘My dear!’ he said to comfort her, 
and laid a hand upon her arm. 

Anthony Fletchall called after him: 


212 | THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Mr. Latimer, what you do is monstrous ill-done. You can- 
not in honour leave Sir Andrew under the obligation to stand 
your fire whenever you shall choose to deliver it. If you 
intended to be generous...’ 

‘I could have fired in the air,’ Latimer interrupted him. ‘T 
know that, sir. And I do not need, nor will I accept, instruc- 
tion in matters of honour. But ll explain myself, since al- 
most you make it necessary. As you must all have seen, I had 
no intention of firing upon Sir Andrew. But, if I had fired 
with deliberate intent to miss him, I should have cleared the 
score, and Sir Andrew would have been at liberty to begin all 
over again, either demanding another exchange of shots or 
forcing a fresh quarrel upon me. I have proved my courage 
once by standing to receive his fire. But I have no intention 
or wish to continue to be a target for him. So I retain my 
shot, and thus in honour I bind his hands from any further 
attempts upon my life.’ 

They regarded him now with silent understanding, and with 
something of respect. Fletchall inclined his head a little. 

‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Latimer.’ 

But Mr. Latimer was not heeding him. Myrtle had clutched 
his arm, and was looking up into his face. 

‘Was that what he did?’ she asked. ‘He forced a quarrel on 
you, Harry? And he fired to kill you? You?’ 

“My dear, what does it matter?’ 

‘Matter?’ she echoed, and she looked at her father. Her 
eyes were the cold eyes of a judge. ‘Why did you do this?’ 
she demanded. ‘Why?’ 

He shook off those who held him, and they let him go. He 
advanced a pace or two, and stopped there, eyeing them both, 
his face white and distorted, his powerful body trembling 
with the awful rage that possessed him, the rage of the despot 
whose authority has been flouted and whose vengeance has 
been baffled. For baffled he knew himself, bound fast in the 
bonds of his own honour by an ingenuity that seemed to him 


THE PISTOL-SHOT 213 


nothing short of fiendish. And now his daughter, this jade 
who had been false to him, as he conceived it, who had played 
the hypocrite, disregarded his parental rights and married 
the man who was become his enemy, dared to stand boldly 
before his face and question him. 

‘You false wretch,’ he reviled her before them all. ‘I did it 
to make a widow of you, to save you from the shame of this 
secret marriage...’ 

‘To make a widow of me! Is that your love?’ There was 
loathing and horror in her voice. Suddenly he seemed mon- 
strous to her in his bigoted, intemperate hate. 

‘Love?’ he answered her, and laughed unpleasantly. ‘Go! 
Go! Out of my sight, both of you! I have done with you, 
Myrtle. I disown you utterly. Not a penny of mine, not a 
perch of land, shall come to you from me living or dead. All I 
pray is that I may never see either of you again.’ 

Her bridegroom put an arm about her. ‘Come, my dear,’ he 
urged her. He bowed silently to the company, and with the 
single exception of Sir Andrew Carey eyery man present 
bowed low in response. 

Mr. Latimer drew his wife into the hall, scattering a knot of 
negro servants who had collected about the door to listen. But 
the voice of his father-in-law still pursued him: 

“You may escape me. But you cannot escape God. His 
vengeance will search out those who break the second 
commandment.’ 

And then some one mercifully closed the door. 

Harry Latimer led Myrtle out and down the steps to the 
waiting carriage, the carriage which she had quitted in almost 
instinctive anxiety when he delayed so unaccountably in 
following her. 

Thus, and in such a state of feeling as you can conceive, 
these two set out upon their bridal journey. 





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PART II 


CHAPTERAl 
MARRIAGE 


FAAAHIS is, as you will long since have realized, no history 

of the Revolution in South Carolina, but simply an 
account of certain fateful transactions in the life of Mr. Harry 
Fitzroy Latimer. If Iam now to touch upon historical matters 
which may be considered to lie outside of that gentleman’s 
story, they are introduced to supply the necessary, and, I 
hope, elucidatory, hyphen connecting the first act of this 
personal drama, upon which the curtain was rung down on 
the night of Brewton’s Ball in June of 1775, with the second 
and final act upon which it is to be rung up again in May of 
the year 1779, at the time of Prevost’s Raid. 

Mr. Latimer’s absence from Charles Town did not extend 
beyond three months. Far sooner than any could have 
imagined on the night of his departure did the drums of war 
beat a rally to all patriots. Long before he had reached his 
plantation of Santee Broads, indeed, within a few hours of 
his setting out to journey thither, came express riders into 
Charles Town with the dreadful news that war was no 
longer an ultimate possibility, but already an accomplished 
fact. 

In the North a great battle had been fought on the heights 
above Boston between the insurgent colonial forces and the 
troops which the British Government had lately been pouring 
into Massachusetts under Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne. 
And by this battle the colonies were definitely committed to 
that civil war which until the eleventh hour, even after the 
skirmish at Lexington, they had still looked to avert. The 


218 THE CAROLINIAN 


die was cast. All hope that the dispute might be settled by 
advocacy and argument was at an end. Only the arbitrament 
of arms remained. 

The heralding throughout America of this fateful decision 
sent across the continent a wave of enthusiasm which few 
patriotic people have not known in the hour of war’s declar- 
ation. They were committed. Come now what might, they 
knew where they stood, and what remained to do. Where 
men perceive this clearly, the rest matters little by compari- 
son. So they girded themselves for battle, but still in the main 
with no thought of independence as the object of their strife. 
Like their ancestors Pym and Hampden, they were making 
a stand, not against sovereignty, but against the abuse of 
sovereign rights. 

The Continental Congress had met at Philadelphia, and, 
conscious of what was coming some weeks before the event 
itself carried conviction to the remoter provinces, it voted to 
raise an army of twenty thousand men. Two days before 
Bunker’s Hill was fought, Congress unanimously elected to 
the position of commander-in-chief ‘Mr. Washington, the Po- 
tomac planter,’ as he was contemptuously designated by 
tories and British alike, but who, in spite of their ill-informed 
and misplaced scorn, was destined to become one of the great 
figures of all time. 

In Charles Town there was a feverish activity of prepara- 
tion, the reflection of which you will find in the collection of 
letters and general orders published by William Moultrie and 
designated his ‘Memoirs.’ There was also an enthusiastic 
confidence which might have run less high could the Caro- 
linians have suspected that the conflict upon which they were 
entering was to drag on with varying fortunes for seven years. 
There were skirmishes with parties of back-country loyalists, 
now frankly stimulated by Lord William. But the only 
immediate fruit of this was that in September the Governor, 
in imminent danger of apprehension, accompanied by Mr. 


MARRIAGE 219 


Innes and Captain Mandeville, took the seal of the province 
and went aboard the Tamar for safety. 

Thus, furtively and ingloriously, closed the era of royal 
rule in South Carolina. 

In view of the news which had so closely followed him, 
Harry Latimer had not considered it either necessary or ex- 
pedient to go farther than Santee Broads. As long as Lord 
William was in Charles Town and nominally governing 
there, Latimer understood that his return would be a breach 
of faith, a violation of the parole given implicitly if not ex- 
plicitly. With his lordship’s departure, however, Latimer 
considered the parole extinguished, and returned to offer his 
sword to Moultrie, who procured him a lieutenant’s com- 
mission in the Second Regiment, under his command. Soon 
he found himself promoted captain and attached to Moul- 
trie’s own person as an extra aide-de-camp during those early 
summer days of the following year when the fort on Sulli- 
van’s Island was feverishly building to defend the harbour. 

Latimer brought Myrtle back with him, and they took up 
their residence at his mansion on the Bay. Thence, three 
times in the course of as many months did he write to Sir 
Andrew Carey, who had now retired to Fairgrove, there to 
sulk over the black conduct of the country in which he had 
the dishonour to be born. Two of these letters remained un- 
answered. The third came back unopened, whereupon it 
was perceived that there was no hope just yet of healing the 
breach between themselves and that fanatical royalist. 

But for this, there would have been no cloud to trouble 
the happiness of those two during that autumn and winter 
of 1775. As it was, Myrtle’s conscience remained unquiet. 
Her affection for Harry was being relentlessly undermined 
by regrets at her estrangement from her father, by doubts of 
the rectitude of her own conduct. Hence, a not unnatural re- 
action to the deeply implanted monarchist principles from 
which she had seceded in the time of panic and excitement 


220 THE CAROLINIAN 


produced by Harry’s personal danger. With the aversion of 
that danger, so, too, had her spirit averted from the new 
faith which for a little while she had tolerated if not actually 
embraced. 

There were times when she was disposed to regard herself 
as a victim, a sacrificial offering to procure Harry’s immun- 
ity from the consequences of the evil course of rebellion upon 
which he had embarked. And where she might ungrudgingly 
have sacrificed her life, she grudged here the sacrifice of her 
soul which seemed entailed. For upon her soul she had taken 
the burden of the sin against the second commandment. 
Hitherto the constant hope, encouraged confidently by 
Harry and also in letters from Lady William, of a reconcilia- 
tion with her father, had thrust that parting denunciation of 
her father’s into the background of her mind. But now that, 
back in Charles Town, and in a Charles Town distracted by 
the preparations for war, this hope was proved at last idle, 
her father’s words rang almost daily in her ears to bring her 
to something akin to remorse for the unfilial conduct of 
which she had been guilty. 

It requires little imagination to perceive the inevitable 
fruit of this. Her manner towards Harry changed percepti- 
bly. It became charged with irritability, and there were 
moments when, because of the load upon her soul and mind, 
she reproached him with a hundred matters that were but so 
many vents for her surcharged feelings. 

She found herself detesting his military preoccupations in 
a cause whose unrighteousness had been inculcated into her 
heart by her parent, and she found herself expressing that 
detestation and uttering loyal sentiments which more than 
suggested that she desired the ultimate destruction of the 
colonials in the struggle to which they were committed. 

There were scenes between them, in which each, carried 
away by momentary resentment of the other’s lack of sym- 
pathy and understanding, said things that but served to 


MARRIAGE 221 


widen the breach that was gradually but surely separating 
them. 

‘Why did you marry me?’ cried Harry one day on a note 
of sheer desperation. 

‘I wish I hadn’t,’ she answered him in her petulance. ‘I 
would give ten years of my life to undo that.’ 

‘You would give my life, you mean. For that is what was 
at stake. I wish you had thought of it in time. I wish you 
had known yourself better.’ 

‘Known myself better?’ 

‘Why did you delude me with a tale of affection, which 
every day our life now proves had no real existence? Was it 
worth while to induce me to save myself only to be daily tor- 
mented through my love for you?’ 

‘Your love! Would you speak to me as you do if you 
loved me?’ 

‘If I did not love, I should not speak to you at all. I 
should let you go your ways; I should make no such desper- 
ate struggles to rescue my happiness from the wreck you 
threaten to make of it.’ And then in his exasperation he ran 
on: ‘Is it fair to blame me if things have gone other than you 
wished? It was your own fault. You chose your course. I 
made no attempt to persuade you. I left you free to follow 
your own bent. Why were you false to it? And why, having 
been false to it, do you now visit me with the blame?’ 

‘What do you mean — my bent?’ 

‘The path of loyalty on which your feet were set. You 
would have kept the affection of your father; you would 
have married your exquisite kinsman Robert Mandeville; 
and some day you would have been ‘‘my lady.’’’ 

Swelling resentment looked at him furiously out of her 
lovely eyes. ‘Why must you sneer at Robert? He is a better 
man than you.’ 

Stung by that in his turn, he added words he was to regret 
as soon as uttered: 


222 THE CAROLINIAN 


“You cannot more deeply deplore than I do that you did 
not marry him.’ 

On that she left him to the conviction that he was brutal; 
and he was more than ever exasperated with her that she 
should make him so. 

Of course, there were passionate reconciliations. Momen- 
tary glimpses of the tragic reality beyond the control of 
either, of which these scenes were no more than the artificial 
manifestations. But the pendulum would not halt in its 
swinging between mutual love and mutual resentment; and 
the sad truth must be recorded that affection was gradually 
being worn away by the exacerbation of these misunder- 
standings. 

In the early spring matters improved a little. Partly this 
was due to the fact that military necessity drew Latimer 
away from home. The comparative idleness of the winter, 
when the news from the North was uncertain and depressing, 
had kept him moping a deal about the house. Thus husband 
and wife had been thrown together far more than was de- 
sirable in the existing state of feeling. But towards the end 
of February, as a consequence of certain intelligence that in 
New York the British were preparing an expedition against 
Charles Town, Colonel Moultrie was ordered down to 
Sullivan’s Island to take command, and Harry Latimer went 
with him. 

They were building there a fort large enough to contain a 
thousand men, and, as this was looked upon as the key of the 
harbour, the news received set them feverishly to work with 
all the mechanics they could enroll and an army of negro 
labourers brought down from the country, so as to complete 
the work in time to receive the British fleet. 

There were as a consequence long absences from home for 
Harry, and, since one result of these was a reduction of the 
friction between himself and his wife, he welcomed them. It 
happened, too, that Myrtle’s condition urged him to subdue 


MARRIAGE 223 


any irritation, and turn the other cheek whenever he found 
her disposed to scold. He did so the more readily and cheer- 
fully since he now discovered a physical explanation for her 
impatiences. 

For some two months before their child was born, their 
relations — thanks largely to his exemplary forbearance — 
had so far improved, that Harry began to take a less de- 
spondent view of the future, and to trust entirely to Time to 
dull her pain at the estrangement from her father. With the 
birth of his son, it almost seemed to him that this time no 
longer lay in the future, but was arrived already. 

There was between them in those days, in the hours stolen 
from duty when he came to feast his eyes upon the swaddled 
bundle in the arms of the ever faithful Mauma Dido, such a 
tenderness as had not prevailed even when first their troth 
had been plighted. They were lovers again, drawn close by 
this precious link, and the world to them lay in each other 
and the child. And because of this, each was now yielding and 
generous to the other, each solicitous to fulfil the other’s 
wishes. 

One day in May, when the boy was a month old, and the 
mother in convalescence, she broached the matter of a name 
for him. 

She was reclining on a day-bed out of doors, set in the 
shade of the magnolias, watching with shining eyes the child 
gurgling idiotically in the arms of the black mauma. Harry, 
in the blue coat and white smalls of the Continental Army, 
leaned on the head of her couch contemplating her with eyes 
of entire devotion, and discerning as only lovers can a touch 
almost of holiness in her beauty. He observed the straight 
nose with its sensitive nostrils, the firm yet generous and 
tender mouth, and the deep mysterious eyes to which 
motherhood now brought a new and shining glory. His fin- 
gers were toying abstractedly with the long brown ringlet 
resting on that white slender neck, when she looked up at 


224 THE CAROLINIAN 


him with a smile that in itself would have ert to make 
life glorious. 

‘We must christen the little heathen, Hares she re- 
minded him. 

‘Why, so we must. What is he to be called?’ 

Now Harry knew his mind quite well. Since Charles Fitz- 
roy Latimer had come to found their house in South Carolina, 
the first-born of the Latimers had ever been given one or the 
other of two only names — Charles and Harry — and they 
had borne these names alternately. It was a tradition he de- 
sired to see maintained; and in his mind he already thought 
of his son as Charles Latimer. But because of the complete 
amity prevailing now between himself and Myrtle, the more 
cherishable because of the storms they had traversed, his 
wishes were not to be expressed until she should make known 
her own. 

‘I had thought...’ she began, and broke off, hesitating. 
‘Nay. But have you no wishes in the matter? He is your 
son, Harry.’ 

‘Not more than he is yours. Therefore, I'll wish whatever 
you may wish.’ 

‘It’s very sweet in you.’ She caught the hand that was en- 
gaged upon her ringlet, and pressed it, holding it thereafter. 
‘I had thought...’ Again she paused, and looked at him, 
almost in apprehension. ‘If you do not like it, Harry, you'll 
say so, and we'll think of it no more. But I feel that if I 
called him Andrew, the name would remain as a proof to my 
father that, in spite of all that has happened, I am still duti- 
ful to him.’ She looked away again as she spoke, and then 
added: ‘But if you think other, Harry...’ 

‘How should I?’ Her submission to him would alone have 
melted any opposition even if he had been disposed to offer 
it. But he was not. He saw, and sympathetically under- 
stood, her motives. Besides, he felt that he would have 
yielded to her even had she asked that the child be named 
Robert. 


MARRIAGE 225 


And so he swallowed lightly his regrets at this breach of a 
tradition of his house, was glad, indeed, to offer it up as a 
loving sacrifice to her desires. 

Andrew the boy was christened, and the christening took 
place at Saint Michael’s on the following Sunday, Colonel 
Moultrie being the rebel godfather provided by Harry, and 
Polly Roupell the royalist godmother of Myrtle’s choosing. 

In the peace and good understanding into which they were 
now come, Harry and his wife continued until the first of 
June, when Captain Latimer, who was on leave at home, re- 
ceived an imperative command to return to duty in the 
more or less completed fort on Sullivan’s Island. 

A British squadron had appeared off Dewees Island, and it 
was clear that the attack for which they had been preparing 
throughout some weeks was at last about to be delivered. 

When Harry bore the news to Myrtle, she was filled with 
sudden terror for him and for the babe who might so soon be 
deprived of his father. 

‘Oh, Harry! ‘Why, why have you espoused this dreadful 
quarrel?’ 

It shocked him a little. It was so different from all that in 
such an emergency he would have expected from Myrtle. He 
had known her from infancy, and had learnt to regard her 
spirit as of purest temper. She was not the weak, emotional, 
selfish woman to bring added pain to such a parting as this, or 
ever to allow considerations of herself to be thrust between her 
man and that man’s duty. 

Thus he had judged her, and thus, indeed, she was. What 
he was slow to perceive was that her resentment arose from 
the nature of the duty that was taking him away. Had he 
been riding off to fight the battles of that monarchist faith in 
which she had been reared, she would have hidden her grief in 
a mask of courage that she might strengthen and enhearten 
him; she would have blessed him at parting and prayed for 
him until his return. But he went to do battle on the wrong 


226 THE CAROLINIAN 


side, against ideals she could not cease from holding. Hence, 
that disheartening, almost petulant wail. 

‘My dear,’ he said gently. ‘It is a sacred duty.’ 

‘A duty!’ She looked at him, and her eyes were harden- 
ing. ‘Did I save your life by marrying you, to have you fling 
it away like this, in battle against the right?’ 

His face turned white. ‘Was that,’ he asked slowly, ‘the 
only reason why you married me?’ 

Mutinous in her fierce resentment she stood, her shoulder 
turned to him, looking through the window of the dining- 
room where he had sought her, and giving him no answer. 

He took it from her silence. His lip quivered a moment. 
A threat which was also a promise trembled for utterance. 
But he did not utter it. He would not have her afterwards 
troubled by remorse. He had done her a great wrong. He 
should have seen it at the time. How purblind he had been, 
not to have understood her sacrifice, the sacrifice with which 
since he had actually taunted her. 

He approached her. But still she did not turn. He took 
the hand that lay limply at her side, and raised it to his lips. 

“Good-bye, Myrtle!’ he said quietly, and let the hand fall 
again. 

Still in her perversity she did not turn. There was a knot 
in her throat, and she would not have him see the tears that 
filled her eyes. | 

He moved away towards the door. There he paused a 
moment. 

‘I have left everything in order,’ he said quietly. ‘All is 
provided for. If anything should happen, all that I have will 
be yours. Yours and Andrew’s.’ 

‘Harry!’ It was the cry of a breaking heart. Suddenly 
she had spun round and was coming towards him, sobbing. 
He stood there, and she flung her arms about his neck, set 
her wet cheek against his. ‘Harry, my dear, my dear! For- 
give me. I love you, Harry, and I’m terrified at the thought 


MARRIAGE 224 


of losing you. It is the thought of you and of the boy makes 
me... what I am. Why don’t you beat me, Harry? It’s 
what I deserve.’ 

And so she ran on in a tale of repentance and self-abase- 
ment that was new in his experience of her, but which failed | 
now to move him, because he did not believe it sincere. She 
was only repeating that which had happened when he was in 
danger of arrest by the Royal Government. It was pity for 
him and fear for his life had moved her then. This she had 
now frankly acknowledged. And it was the same emotion 
that possessed her now. But not again could she delude him, 
even though she might delude herself. 

Tender and considerate with her he was. To quiet her, he 
professed belief in what she said, but his professions rang 
false and hollow in her acute and straining ears. 

And so in the end he left her. 


CHAPTER II 
FORT SULLIVAN 


HE Executive of the General Assembly, which had by 

now replaced the old Provincial Congress, was in the 
hands of a legislative and privy council. John Rutledge had 
been elected President and invested with all the powers of 
Governor. 

Despite a temperamental antipathy, which he believed 
mutual, and some lingering remains of that rancour pro- 
voked by Rutledge’s hard, unsentimental criticisms of his 
conduct in the Featherstone affair, Harry Latimer could not 
withhold his admiration of the sagacity, energy, and strength 
with which the new President went to work to establish and 
maintain order, to levy troops, and to advance the fortifica- 
tion of the town materially and morally against all emergen- 
cies. 

In those first days of June there arrived in Charles Town 
that English soldier of fortune Major-General Charles Lee, 
sent by Washington to command the troops engaged in the 
defence of the Southern seaboard. He was a man of great 
experience and skill, who had spent his life campaigning 
wherever campaigns were being conducted; and Moultrie tells 
us that his presence in Charles Town was equivalent to a re- 
inforcement of a thousand men. But his manners, Moultrie 
adds, were rough and harsh. 

The unfinished state in which he found the great fort of 
palmetto logs seems to have fretted him considerably. His 
correspondence with Moultrie in these days bears abundant 
witness to that, and we have a glimpse of the irritation caused 
him by the calm, unexcited manner in which the stout-hearted 
Moultrie continued the works as if he still had months in 


FORT SULLIVAN 220 


which to complete them. Two things Lee was frenziedly 
demanding: the completion of the fort, and the building of a 
bridge to secure the retreat to the mainland of the force on 
Sullivan’s Island. 

If Moultrie was leisurely in the matter of the former, he was 
entirely negligent on the subject of the latter. He had not, 
he said, come there to retreat, and there was no need to be 
wasting time, energy, and material in providing the means 
for it. 

Lee’s great experience of war had taught him to leave 
nothing to chance. Moreover, in this instance he was fully 
persuaded that the fort could not be held — particularly in its 
unfinished state — against the powerful fleet under Sir Peter 
Parker standing off the bar. He reckoned without two factors: 
the calm, cool courage of its defender and the peculiar resist- 
ing quality of palmetto wood, experience of which was not 
included in all his campaignings, extensive and varied though 
they had been. 

Action by the fleet was delayed until the end of June, in 
order that with it might be combined the operation of a land 
force under Sir Henry Clinton. This had been put ashore on 
Long Island with the same object of reducing the fort, which 
was the key to the harbour. To this end Clinton erected a 
battery which should cover the transport and fording of troops 
across the narrow neck of shallow water dividing the two 
islands. But to defend the passage there was a ‘battery on 
the east end of Sullivan’s Island commanded by Colonel 
Thomson with a picked body of riflemen. 

The defence of Fort Sullivan is one of the great epics of the 
war, and few of its battles were of more far-reaching effect 
than this, coming as it did ina time of some uncertainty in the 
affairs of the Americans. 

At half-past ten o’clock on the morning of the 28th of June, 
Sir Peter Parker on board the flagship Bristol gave the signal 
for action, and the fleet of ten vessels. carrying two hundred 


230 THE CAROLINIAN 


and eighty-four guns, advanced to anchor before the fort, 
confidently to undertake the work of pounding it into dust. 

At eleven o’clock that night, nine shattered ships dropped 
down to Five Fathom Hole, out of range, leaving the tenth — 
the frigate Acigon crippled and aground to westward of the 
fort, there to be destroyed by fire the next morning. 

Throughout the action, Moultrie’s supplies of powder had 
been inadequate. Hence the need, not only for economy of 
fire, but for greater marksmanship, so that as few shots as 
possible should be wasted. And whilst the careful, steady fire 
from the fort battered the ships and made frightful carnage on 
their decks, the British shot sank more or less harmlessly into 
the soft, spongy palmetto logs or fell into the large moat in 
the middle of the fort where the fuses were extinguished be- 
fore the shells could explode. It is said that of over fifty shot 
thrown by the Thunder-Bomb alone into the fort, not a single 
one exploded. 

But if these did not, there were others that did, and al- 
though the casualties of the garrison were surprisingly small, 
yet throughout that terrible day of overpowering heat the 
Carolinians in Fort Sullivan may well have deemed themselves 
in hell. Toiling there, naked to the waist for the most part, 
under a pall of acrid smoke that hung low and heavy upon 
them and at times went near to choking them, and amid an 
incessant roar of guns, with shells bursting overhead, they 
fought on desperately and indomitably against a force they 
knew greatly superior to their own. And amongst them, ever 
where the need was greatest, hobbling hither and thither 
—for he was sorely harassed by gout at the time — was 
Moultrie in his blue coat and three-cornered hat, his rugged 
face calm, smoking his pipe as composedly as if he had been 
at his own fireside. 

Only once did he and his officers, who in this matter 
emulated their leader, lay aside their pipes; and that was out 
of respect for General Lee, when in the course of the action 


FORT SULLIVAN 231 


he came down to see how things were with them, and to 
realize for himself that it was possible that with all his great 
experience of war he had been wrong in his assumption that 
the place could not be held. 

The thing he chiefly dreaded had by then been averted. 
He had perceived that the fort’s alarming weakness lay in 
the unfinished western side — the side that faced the main. 
Thence it might easily be enfiladed by any ship that ran past 
and took up a position in the channel. This vulnerable point 
had not been overlooked by Sir Peter Parker, and com- 
paratively early in the battle he had ordered forward the 
Sphynx, the Actgon, and the Syren to attack it. But here 
Fortune helped the garrison that was so stoutly helping itself. 
In the haste of their advance the three ships fouled one 
another’s rigging, became entangled, and drifted thus on to 
the shoal known as the ‘Middle Ground.’ Before they could 
clear themselves, the guns of the fort had been concentrated 
upon them, and poured into them a fire as destructive as it 
was accurate. The Sphynx and the Syren eventually got off 
in a mangled condition, one of them trailing her broken bow- 
sprit. The Acigon remained to be destroyed at leisure. 

And all this while, Myrtle, in an apprehension which was 
increased to anguish when she remembered the manner of her 
parting with Harry, lay on the roof of the house on the Bay 
endeavouring thence by the aid of a telescope to follow the 
action that was being fought ten miles away, whilst the win- 
dows below rattled and the very world seemed to shake with 
the incessant thunder of the British guns and the slow, de- 
liberate replies from the fort. 

Once she saw that the flag — the first American flag dis- 
played in the South; a blue flag with a white crescent in the 
dexter corner — was gone from the fort. And her dismay in 
that moment made her realize, as once before she had realized, 
the true feelings that underlay the crust of vain prejudice 
upon her soul. There followed a pause of dreadful uncertainty 


232 THE CAROLINIAN 


as to whether this meant surrender — the pause during which 
the heroic Sergeant Jasper leapt down from one of the em- 
brasures in the face of a withering fire to rescue the flag which 
had been carried away by a chance shot. Attaching it to a 
sponge staff, he hoisted it once more upon the ramparts, and 
when she saw it fluttering there again, a faint cheer broke 
from her trembling lips and was taken up by the negro 
servants who shared her eyrie and some of her anxiety for 
the garrison among which was the master they all loved. 

There she remained until after darkness had fallen, a dark- 
ness still rent and stabbed by the flashes from the guns, and 
until a terrific thunderstorm broke overhead and the artillery 
of heaven came to mingle with the artillery of man. 

Then at last, unable to follow the combat with her eyes, 
and already drenched by the downpour which descended al- 
most without warning, she allowed the slaves to lead her 
down from the roof, and went within to spend a sleepless 
night of anguish. 

In the morning the news of victory filled Charles Town 
with joy and thanksgiving. It was a victory less complete 
than it might have been if Moultrie had not been starved 
of powder. With adequate ammunition, every ship of the 
British fleet would have been sunk or forced to surrender. 
But it was complete enough. The battered and defeated 
vessels were beaten off, and Charles Town was safe for the 
present. 

Whole-heartedly Myrtle shared the general joy and thanks- 
giving. She knew herself now, she thought, beyond possibility 
of ever again being mistaken in her feelings. She had been 
through an experience of anguish, which had sharpened the 
sight of her soul so that she had come to see her own fault in 
the discords that had poisoned her married life. It should 
never, never be so again, she vowed, if only Harry were now 
safely restored to her. That was the abiding anxiety. Was he 
safe? 


FORT SULLIVAN 233 


But amid the general rejoicing how could she doubt it? It 
was known that the casualties had been few in the fort, only 
some ten killed and twice that number wounded. Surely 
Heaven would not be so cruel as to include her husband 
among these. 

She went actively about the house during that endless 
morning, stimulating all into preparations for welcoming 
Harry home, confident that he would come to her soon in the 
course of the day. 

And come to her he did somewhere about noon, inanimate 
upon a stretcher borne by two of his men. The click of the 
garden-gate and the sound of steps on the gravel brought her, 
swift-footed, eager, to the porch, to swoon there under the 
shock of what she beheld, believing that it was a dead body 
those men bore. 

When, restored to her senses, she was told that he still 
lived, though sorely wounded, she would have gone to him at 
once. But they restrained her — old Julius, Mauma Dido, and 
Dr. Parker, the latter having flown instantly to Harry’s side 
in response to the news borne him by Hannibal of his master’s 
homecoming. 

The doctor, elderly and benevolent, and an old friend of 
Harry’s, very gently broke to her the news that, although her 
husband’s life was not to be despaired of, yet it hung by the 
most tenuous of threads, and that only the utmost care and 
vigilance could avoid the severing of this. He had been shot 
through the body in two places. One of these was a slight 
wound; but the other was grave, and Dr. Parker had only just 
extracted the bullet. He was easier now; but it would be 
better if she did not see him yet. 

‘But who is to tend and nurse him?’ she inquired. 

“We must provide for that.’ 

‘Who better than myself?’ 

‘But you have not the strength, my dear,’ he demurred. 
‘The very sight of him wounded has so affected you that...’ 


234 THE CAROLINIAN 


She interrupted him. ‘That shall not happen again,’ she 
promised firmly, and rose commanding her still trembling 
limbs. Although very white, she was so calm and so resolved, 
that presently Dr. Parker gave way, and permitted her at 
once to take up her duties by Harry’s side. 

He was delirious and fever-tossed, so that there was no 
danger of any excitement to him from her presence. She 
received the doctor’s instructions attentively, displaying now 
the calm of an intrepid combatant, preparing for battle. And 
save for one concession to her emotions, when she knelt by his 
bedside and offered up a prayer that he might be spared to 
her, she did not again depart from that stern rdle. 

Down in her heart there was an instinctive knowledge that 
she, herself, was in part responsible for his condition, even 
before Moultrie came, as he did later that day, to leave her, 
by the admissions she drew from him, no doubt upon that 
score. 

It was like the kindly, easy-going soldier to find time amid 
the many preoccupations of the moment to seek her, all 
battle-stained as he was, to offer comfort and obtain news of 
Harry’s condition. 

‘It is precarious,’ she answered him. ‘But Dr. Parker 
assures me that he is to be saved by care and vigilance, and 
these I can provide. Be sure that Harry shall get well again.’ 

He marvelled at her calm confidence; marvelled, admired, 
and was reassured. Here was the spirit in which the battle of 
Fort Sullivan had been won by his gallant lads, the spirit 
which conquers all material things. 

He spoke of the fight of yesterday and of Harry’s conduct 
in it, conduct of a valour amounting to recklessness. 

‘Tf I had not known him for a man with every inducement 
to live, with everything to make life dear for him, I might al- 
most have suspected him of courting death. Twice I had to 
order him down from the parapet, where he was needlessly 
exposing himself in his zeal to stimulate the men. And when 


FORT SULLIVAN 235 


the flag was carried away a second time by a shot from the 
Bristol, before I could stop him he had done what Jasper did 
on the first occasion of that happening. He was over the 
parapet and out on the sand under fire to rescue and bring 
back our standard. He was standing on the ramparts waving 
it to the men when he was shot. I caught him in my arms, 
and, desperately wounded as he was, at the moment I really 
think my chief emotion was anger with him that he should so 
recklessly have exposed himself.’ 

When presently he left her, and she went back to Harry’s 
bedside, where her place had been filled in her absence by 
Mauma Dido, she took back with her the burning memory of 
Moultrie’s words. 

‘If I had not known him for a man with every inducement 
to live, with everything to make life dear for him...’ 

And the truth, she told herself, was that, through her, he 
was become a man with every inducement to die. Deliberately 
he had sought death, that he might deliver her from a bond 
which had been forged by charity instead of love. For this 
was the lie she had led him to believe; this was the lie which, 
for a time, she had almost believed, herself. Because he 
imagined that bond grown odious to her — and she had given 
him all cause so to imagine it — he had sought to snap it, 
that he might set her free. 

How like him was that! How like the high-spirited selfless 
Harry she had always known! Impetuous and impulsive 
always, but always upon impulses to serve others. It was the 
service of others had made him a patriot, where a self-seeker 
of his wealth and prosperity under the Royal Government 
would have striven to avoid all change. Whether his political 
views were right or wrong, noble and altruistic they certainly 
were. For that she must honour him, and for that, too, since 
she was his wife, she must make his faith her own. 

Never again, if it should please God in His infinite mercy to 
spare him, would she give him occasion to doubt her, or to 


236 THE CAROLINIAN 


suppose that anything but love had brought her, or to sup- 
pose that anything but love had brought about that pre- 
cipitate marriage of theirs. And if he should not be spared, 
why, then she would spend the wealth that she would inherit 
to the last penny in forwarding the cause he had espoused. 

In such a spirit did she address herself to wrestle with the 
Angel of Death. 


CHAPTER III 
SEVERANCE 


ARRY LATIMER did not die. For a fortnight, 

M& during the torrid heat of that July, he lay a prey to a 

fever that ebbed and flowed almost with the regularity of the 

tides, finally to sink down and leave him on the shores of 
convalescence. 

Perhaps the greatest factor in his recovery was the will to 
live, aroused in him when he found that he owed the main- 
tenance of his life during that season of greatest peril to the 
passionate, tireless, and devoted battle which his wife had 
fought for him. Her tenderness and her solicitude during 
those first hours of consciousness, when she was herself worn 
to exhaustion, but sustained by her will and her determination 
to hold him back from death, convinced him, as nothing else 
could have convinced him, that she cherished him and desired 
him to live. 

And presently as he grew stronger, in the days when at last, 
under the insistence of Dr. Parker, she submitted to dividing 
with others her care of him, so that she, herself, might snatch 
some sorely needed rest, there followed between them explan- 
ations that made an end at last to all possibility of further 
misunderstandings. 

‘If you had died, Harry,’ she told him, ‘life for me would 
have been at an end.’ 

And with the proofs of her self-sacrificing devotion before 
him, he believed her whole-heartedly now. He was thankful 
to have survived, and looked back with horror of himself and 
his own stupidity for having permitted a jealous doubt so to 
have wrought upon him as to send him in deliberate quest of 
death. 


238 THE CAROLINIAN 


Meanwhile, the tide of war was beaten back from Charles 
Town, and a sense of peace and security quickly restored to it, 
whilst elsewhere the American mind was inflamed with new 
ardour and the British mind cooled by dismay at the almost 
incredible disaster to Sir Peter Parker’s fleet. But to avenge 
it another great fleet was already on its way to America 
bringing additional forces, amounting to some twenty-five 
thousand British troops, and seventeen thousand German 
mercenaries engaged for the purpose by treaty with several 
German princes. 

Since thus it had been rendered more than ever apparent 
that England would abandon none of her claims and accept 
nothing but the total dependency and servitude of the colonies, 
a violent change of feeling had taken place. The republicans 
who preached American Independence, hitherto a repressed 
minority, had raised their heads in force, and conversion to 
their doctrines ran like a wave across the thirteen provinces. 
So that when Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, had offered his 
resolution in Congress that ‘The United Colonies are and 
ought to be an Independent State,’ it was possible, although 
only by a bare majority, to adopt it. And so it happened that 
the thanks of the Continental Congress to the brave defenders 
of Charles Town, despatched to them on the 2oth of July, 
were from the United States of America to the State of South 
Carolina. The Republic had come into existence, and 
Moultrie’s guns of Fort Sullivan had fired a salute that went 
far to establish the independent government whose declara- 
tion was read a very few days later in Congress by Mr. 
Thomas Jefferson. 

In Charles Town the Declaration of Independence was not 
read until the first Monday in August. By then, Harry 
Latimer, whilst still reduced in strength, was so far recovered 
from his wounds as to have himself carried in a sedan chair to 
Liberty Tree, the spot whence Gadsden in the old days had 
preached sedition to the people. It was thronged now by men 


SEVERANCE 239 


and women, young and old, and thither came the military, 
marching with drums beating and flags flying. Hushed, they 
all stood in the sweltering heat, to hear the Reverend William 
Percy solemnly read the Declaration, whilst his black boy 
held an umbrella over him with one hand and fanned him with 
the other. 

The Declaration was received with acclamations natural 
enough in the excitement of the moment. But not all present 
acclaimed it. Many even of those who had been most resolute 
in combating King George’s rigorous methods of coercion 
were silent and uneasy, conscious of the heritage they were 
renouncing, driven to it by the intransigence of those who 
ruled the parent country. 

Henry Laurens, who stood near Harry’s chair, was ob- 
served by Myrtle to be in tears, and the usually expressionless 
face of John Rutledge appeared for once to reflect spiritual 
pain. 

As they returned home from that function, it seemed to 
Myrtle that between the colonies and the mother country 
was enacted something akin to that which had happened 
between her father and herself. 


CHAPTER IV 
GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 


HERE followed now for South Carolina a period of 
peace and almost unequalled prosperity, what time the 
war with varying fortune was raging in the North. 

The victory of Fort Moultrie — as Fort Sullivan had been 
renamed by the legislative in honour of its gallant defender — 
had earned the province this season of respite. 

As one of the few open ports of America, Charles Town be- 
came the gateway into the colonies for all supplies. The Bay, 
for the next two years and longer, was crowded with the 
shipping of neutral countries; the wharves hummed with 
activity; trade flourished. 

Winter came and went before Harry Latimer was restored 
to his former vigour. To Myrtle these were perhaps the 
happiest days that she had known. She and Harry had come 
through storm into calm, and she had learnt that her world 
was made up of her husband and their boy, and that events 
happening outside that world should and could make no im- 
pression upon it. 

If in the background of her mind there was ever the thought 
of her father, it was no longer attended by that sense of un- 
filial conduct on which her happiness had almost suffered 
shipwreck. She began to absorb something of the atmosphere 
in which she lived; and views, held at first out of a sense 
of wifely duty deliberately imposed upon herself to make 
amends, came in the end to be held out of pure conviction. 
Her father became in her eyes a moral reflection of the King 
whom he worshipped; and just as the intransigence of the 
latter was to blame for the rupture between the parent coun- 
try and its colonial offspring, so was the intransigence of the 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 241 


former to blame for the breach between himself and his child. 

They were as children, all three of them, during the spring 
and summer of ’77. Harry had been promoted to the rank of 
major for his gallantry during the defence of Fort Sullivan, 
although Moultrie himself had privately expressed to him the 
opinion that he deserved to be shot for it. During his con- 
valescence, John Rutledge had come to visit him, to con- 
gratulate him upon his promotion, and to honour him for 
the deed that had earned it. 

‘Sir,’ he had said in his stiff, formal way, ‘if once I blamed 
you for impulsiveness, I come to make you amends. If it isa 
fault, you have shown me that it can also be a virtue.’ 

And presently, by the time that little Andrew was beginning 
to stand upon his own feet, Harry became immersed in affairs, 
which if not directly the affairs of war were at least very 
closely concerned with them. The whole of his considerable 
merchant fleet was now employed in the service of his country. 
Some of the ships were fitted out as privateers, others went 
upon voyages to the West Indies, to France, and to Spain for 
war material and supplies, and in the lack of military engage- 
ments during that time he was able to devote the whole of his 
energies to the supervision of all the details connected with 
these shipping matters. Hence, it resulted that South 
Carolina was better equipped in arms and munitions than any 
State in the Union. 

And, meanwhile, in the North the fortunes of war fluctuated 
in amazing waves. At first the high hopes fired by the Caro- 
linian victory over Sir Peter Parker steadily waned until that 
dreadful moment at the end of ’76, when all seemed lost 
beyond the chance of redemption. Washington, beaten back 
and back, had at last retreated across the Delaware, his army 
reduced by casualties, sickness, and desertions to a mere three 
thousand men, and the river being now the only barrier 
between the British and Philadelphia. The British, strong and 
well equipped, sat down complacently to await the freezing 


242 THE CAROLINIAN 


of the river so that they might cross and make an end of that 
remnant of an army should it not meanwhile have completely 
melted away in panic. Cornwallis and his troops were al- 
ready embarking in New York to return home. The war, from 
the British as from the American point of view, was at an end. 

But it was not at an end from Washington’s. 

Suddenly the country was startled out of its gloom and 
despondency by the bold stroke of the American Commander- 
in-Chief in recrossing the Delaware on that Christmas night 
and descending like a thunderbolt upon the advanced post of 
the enemy. 

Hopes soared once more; spirits that had been drooping 
were again uplifted; men of the militia whose time was expir- 
ing no longer thought of leaving the colours as they had been 
preparing to do, and recruits flowed in once more to strengthen 
the American arm. And back from New York and his ships 
came the startled Cornwallis, who had already counted the 
chickens that were never to be hatched; back to New Jersey 
to increase the British forces that were to deal with an enemy 
which yesterday had seemed not merely exhausted, but 
annihilated. 

Thus the war may be said to have recommenced. It 
dragged wearily on through ’77 with the same varying ebb 
and flow as before, fortune in the main favouring the British 
arms, and American hopes gradually sinking, until suddenly 
from the very nadir they were lifted in mid-October to the 
zenith. 

Burgoyne and the whole of the British Northern Army, 
surrounded at Saratoga by the Americans under General 
Gates, his supplies cut off, and without hope of relief from 
Clinton, was compelled to the humiliation of complete 
surrender. 

Such was the shock of the news in England that at last King 
George was constrained to put aside the obstinacy which had 
brought the empire this humiliation and to which he had 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 243 


sacrificed her finest colony. Under the pressure of outraged 
public opinion, which, unable to endure more, was manifest- 
ing a dangerous temper, Lord North was compelled to come 
forward with two conciliatory bills. By these the King not 
only conceded now everything that had been the occasion of 
the controversy and over which already so much good red 
blood had been shed; he offered far more than America had 
ever asked. But he offered it too late. Congress would not 
treat with King George until he withdrew from America his 
armies and his fleets. Almost at the same time Franklin in 
Paris brought France not only to recognize the Independence 
of America, but into a treaty of alliance defensive and offen- 
sive. Thus Great Britain, in the hour of dismay, found herself 
faced not only by her own recalcitrant offspring, but by her 
hereditary foe as well. To this pass had the headstrong 
stupidity of a single man of foreign blood brought the great 
empire over which in his arrogance and vanity he must rule as 
well as reign. 

It was evident to the Ministry at home that the war in 
the North, which twice had been all but won, was now defi- 
nitely lost. All was to be begun again and it was now de- 
termined as a last resort to attempt the conquest from the 
South. 3 

General Prevost in Florida was to be reinforced with 
troops from New York, so that he might open the new cam- 
paign with the conquest of Georgia; a comparatively easy 
matter this, for Georgia was indifferently disposed to war. 
So the last phase of England’s struggle to retain her colonies 
opened in the autumn of 1778 with the invasion of Georgia 
by two expeditions of British troops supplemented by tory 
refugees from Georgia itself and South Carolina. And it 
opened disastrously for the American arms. The forces under 
General Robert Howe suffered a terrible rout, and Savannah 
was captured by the British. 

After that, Prevost had an easy task of completing the 


244 THE CAROLINIAN 


conquest of Georgia. So much accomplished, he made his 
dispositions to penetrate into South Carolina. 

Rumours of this were already alarming Charles Town 
when Major-General Benjamin Lincoln arrived there early 
in December, despatched by Congress to take command of 
the Southern Department, and immediately preparations 
began under his orders to march the troops to the relief of 
Georgia. ; 

Lincoln had been with Gates in the operations that had 
resulted in the surrender of Burgoyne, and some of the 
glamour of this, the most glorious feat of American arms, 
hung about him and lent him a prestige in the eyes of the 
Carolinians such as his own military merits were far from de- 
serving. He was brave and patriotic, but he was without 
real experience of war, and totally lacking in imagination 
which is able so often to fill the place of experience. 

Harry Latimer, now acting as Brigadier-General Moul- 
trie’s chief aide, and largely entrusted with all administra- 
tive matters, for which his conduct of affairs in the past year 
had shown him so admirably qualified, ate his Christmas 
dinner with his family and his brigadier in the big house in 
Broad Street that was now used, not only as Moultrie’s 
headquarters, but also as his own and Harry’s residence. 

The reason for this claims a word of explanation, for in fol- 
lowing the fortunes of the American arms we have mo- 
mentarily neglected Latimer’s own personal history. 

Almost a year ago—in January of ’78 — during Lati- 
mer’s absence on an expedition against the Scovellites in the 
back country, there had occurred in Charles Town the great 
conflagration, supposed to have been the work of tory in- 
cendiaries, — for the place was honeycombed with traitors, 
— which wrought such terrible havoc to property. Lati- 
mer’s beautiful house, with all the choice furniture, plate, 
and books in which it was possible to trace his family’s 
colonial history, had been burnt to the ground. 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 245 


Moultrie had come to the rescue of Myrtle, who found 
herself homeless as a consequence, and he had offered her 
the hospitality of his house for herself and her immediate 
personal servants, Julius, Hannibal, and Dido. As his own 
wife was away in Virginia at the time, the arrangement had 
proved mutually so convenient that when eventually Harry 
had returned to Charles Town it had not only been per- 
mitted to continue, but had passed almost imperceptibly into 
a permanent arrangement. It suited the General to have the 
surveillance of Myrtle over the domestic side of his estab- 
lishment no less than to have his chief aide, which Major 
Latimer became at about that time, immediately under his 
hand. 

On the day after Christmas, the First and Second Regi- 
ments, some twelve hundred strong, were ordered to march 
to Purysburg, and on the 27th they set out, accompanied 
and reinforced by five hundred Continental troops. Purys- 
burg was reached on the 3d of January, and the army sat 
down within sound of the British drums across the river, to 
watch the enemy, and challenge his crossing should he at- 
tempt it, whilst awaiting the reinforcements that should 
render them at need strong enough, themselves, to pay the 
first visit. 

But for Howe’s mismanagement of affairs and the rout he 
had sustained by his ill-judged action, the colonials would 
have been in sufficient strength to deal with Prevost without 
further waiting, and, by seizing Savannah before he could 
fortify it, drive him to his ships. As it was, not only did the 
reinforcements awaited by Moultrie not arrive, but deser- 
tions began to reduce the force already existing. This was the 
almost constant and inevitable result of the Fabian policy 
the American leaders were so commonly forced to adopt. 
The men of the militia did not lack spirit, but the absence of 
training and discipline rendered them insubordinate; and, 
unless quickly brought to action, camp-life wearied and 


246 THE CAROLINIAN 


fretted them and they became homesick. After that, since 
the public law by which they were governed could impose 
upon them no more than a small pecuniary fine for the great- 
est military crime, there was nothing to deter them from 
desertion. 

At first, things went well for the Americans at Purysburg. 
An expedition sent by Prevost to take post on Port Royal 
Island was sought out by Moultrie and defeated with great 
loss. This initial victory coming almost immediately upon 
the heels of the arrival, on the last day of January, of Gen- 
eral John Ashe with a body of twelve hundred North Caro- 
linians, brought optimism and confidence. 

In the middle of February came the victory over Colonel 
Boyd, with his strong body of Carolinian and Georgian 
tories, who were on their way to join the British forces at 
Augusta, higher up the river. With characteristic intoler- 
ance and bigotry — just such a spirit as that which actu- 
ated Sir Andrew Carey — Boyd’s green-coats had swept 
like a flail over the country, ravaging, burning, and devastat- 
ing as they went, until suddenly they were intercepted by 
the Carolinian force under Colonel Pickens, which cut them 
to pieces. | 

But by the time of these happenings, Harry Latimer was 
back in Charles Town with Moultrie, summoned thither by 
Lincoln to confer with Rutledge upon the state of affairs re- 
garding the militia and to urge the necessity for reinforce- 
ments if a decisive action against Prevost were to be at- 
tempted. 

John Rutledge was now invested by the new legislature 
with powers which transcended mere civil matters and gave 
him in military affairs an authority whose limits were 
scarcely defined. His reélection to the office of Governor was 
comparatively recent. He had resigned a year ago, upon per- 
ceiving that it was the aim to render permanent the emanci- 
pation from Great Britain implied in the Declaration of In- 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 247 


dependence, which at first, in common with many others, he 
had been disposed to regard as a temporary measure. Fora 
year Rawlins Lowndes had held the office; but with the 
shifting of the war to the Southern Provinces he had begged 
to be permitted to resign in favour of some one with greater 
knowledge of military matters, and Rutledge, whose scruples 
had meanwhile passed and whose mind had grown accus- 
tomed to the ideas that were henceforth to prevail in Amer- 
ica, had accepted a position urgently thrust upon him by all 
those who rightly valued his great capacity for affairs, his 
energy, patriotism, and his uncompromising honesty. 

Of the fact that his eyes missed nothing, Moultrie was to 
have a rather painful instance, on the occasion of their second 
interview held in Rutledge’s house in Broad Street. 

The Governor had disclosed the measures he had taken 
and the further measures contemplated so as to raise addi- 
tional troops, and he had announced his intention of going, 
himself, to Orangeburg to form a camp for three thousand 
men, though he said nothing as yet of how these men were 
to be employed. 

It is possible that already at this date, Rutledge had con- 
ceived the great strategic plan by which he counted upon 
drawing Prevost’s army to such an annihilation as had over- 
taken Burgoyne’s, that at a stroke he might bring the war to 
anend. He guarded his secret so jealously that even to-day it 
is only by carefully weighing all that was written in the mili- 
tary correspondence and general orders of the time, and by 
scanning every word in them, that in glimpses, between the 
lines, the attentive student may perceive the inspiration and 
deliberate aim of all that was done. Since success was to de- 
pend upon misleading the enemy so that he might be sub- 
sequently surprised, secrecy was of the very first importance. 
And such secrecy did Rutledge observe that not even one so 
trustworthy and personally dear to him as Moultrie was per- 
mitted the least hint of his project, nor at the date of which 


248 THE CAROLINIAN 


I write did even Lincoln know what was so closely guarded 
in the Governor’s mind. 

But since presently one, at least, must share the secret, 
and since from inevitable actions of his own in Charles Town 
acute observers might draw inferences sufficiently near the 
truth to wreck his schemes, Rutledge was growing uneasy in > 
the knowledge that the place still swarmed with traitors and 
with tories whose rancour had been increased by the appro- 
priation of their wealth for the common weal. He was suspi- 
cious of all who were not avowedly and energetically on his 
own side, and he was, like all men who guard a secret fear- 
fully, disposed to start at shadows. 

It was of this that he now afforded more than a glimpse. 

‘There is another matter on which I wish to speak to you,’ 
he said at that second meeting. He spoke quietly, and yet in 
so odd a tone that Moultrie took the pipe from between his 
lips, and looked sharply across the writing-table before 
which he was seated opposite to the Governor. 

He observed, perhaps for the first time, that Rutledge’s 
face was rather grey and drawn from unremitting mental 
and physical toil; his features had lost some of their soft 
roundness, and the fullness under the chin was perceptibly 
diminished. 

‘Are you sure that you are wise in permitting Mrs. Lati- 
mer to continue under your roof, in a house which is practi- 
cally serving as your headquarters?’ 

The General’s stare became one of stupefaction. ‘What 
on earth can be the objection?’ For the moment he almost 
wondered whether, considering the absence of his own wife, 
his moral character was being assailed. 

‘The objection there must always be to having a person of 
doubtful loyalty about headquarters. There are always in 
such places scraps of information to be picked up.’ 

‘My God!’ ejaculated Moultrie, and such was his indigna- 
tion that his manner of addressing the Governor became 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 249 


formal. ‘Is your excellency insinuating that Mrs. Latimer is 
a spy?’ 

‘If I thought so, I should not insinuate it. I should state 
it. No, William. I mean neither more nor less than my 
words convey. I think they are quite plain.’ 

‘Plain? Aye, damme, they’re plain. What isn’t plain is 
why you should utter them at all. Ye must have some reason. 
Or is it just panic?’ 

‘I am not given to panic.’ 

‘But... but...’ Moultrie was between amazement and 
exasperation. ‘Myrtle is the wife of my chief aide, a man as 
loyal and trustworthy as myself, as every action of his life 
goes to prove.’ 

‘I am not questioning Major Latimer’s loyalty. But 
neither am I forgetting that his wife is also the daughter of 
Andrew Carey, the bitterest and most rancorous tory in 
Carolina.’ 

Moultrie laughed, and resumed his pipe. He thought he 
understood. 

‘Here’s a mare’s nest,’ said he, between puffs. ‘Your 
memory’s failing you, John. Mrs. Latimer is completely es- 
tranged from her father. It is notorious that he bears her as 
deep a rancour as he bears Harry Latimer himself.’ 

‘Then why,’ asked Rutledge, ‘does she visit him?’ 

‘Visit him?’ Again the pipe came from between Moultrie’s 
lips, and, having parted them to ask that question, they re- 
mained apart a moment. He screwed up his rugged features 
as he added on a deeper note of incredulity: ‘At Fairgrove?’ 

Rutledge shook his head slowly. ‘Not at Fairgrove. Here 
in Charles Town at this house in Tradd Street. Fairgrove is 
in our hands. Military necessity obliged us to take posses- 
sion of it at the end of December. Carey denounced the ac- 
tion in terms which under martial law would almost have 
warranted our hanging him. Whether it was from the rage 
he indulged, or from other causes, the gout from which he 


250 THE CAROLINIAN 


was suffering mounted to his vitals, and for a fortnight he 
lay at the point of death.’ Rutledge sighed. ‘He would 
probably have saved us a deal of trouble had he died. But 
you may have observed, William, that troublesome per- 
sons are commonly of an extraordinary and tenacious vi- 
tality. 

‘He recovered, and for the past month he has steeped him- 
self in affairs, which he conducts through his factor, old 
Featherstone — another friend of ours. His ships trade 
hither and thither, exporting the produce of his farther plan- 
tations and other produce acquired by purchase. What they 
will import in return remains yet to be seen. Whether this 
commercial activity is being pursued in quest of oblivion of 
his surroundings or as a mask upon some other design of his, 
I am not prepared to say. But I have him under observa- 
tion, William. His only visitors, apart from persons known 
to be avowed tories, are a few traders from the back country 
and even farther afield — all of them natural objects of sus- 
picion to me. And now his daughter...’ He broke off, and 
sighed again, his rather owlish eyes solemn and steady in 
their glance levelled upon Moultrie. ‘If she were not residing 
in your house, it would not give me a moment’s thought.’ 

Moultrie got up, so suddenly that a twinge of gout made 
him sit down again. ‘Nor need it give you a moment’s 
thought as it is.’ He was contemptuously emphatic, and he 
rose again, more successfully this time. ‘If she visits her 
father, it means that they’re reconciled at last, and for her 
sake, poor child, I’m mighty glad it is so. It isn’t comfort- 
able for a girl to have a father’s curse hanging over her, 
whatever the father may be. As for the rest...’ He 
made a broad contemptuous gesture of dismissal. ‘Moon- 
shine!’ said he. ‘But I’ll go into it. Dll question her.’ 
Abruptly, as if to change the subject, he added: ‘ Anything 
else?’ 

‘Yes. Since you are going to question her, ask her if she 


GOVERNOR RUTLEDGE 251 


can tell you anything about a man named Neild — Jona- 
than Neild.’ 

‘Who is he?’ 

‘One of her father’s visitors. He’s been in Charles Town 
twice in the last month: once while Carey was ill, and once 
again since; three days ago, in fact. He calls himself a Vir- 
ginian and a Quaker, and he looks like a backwoodsman. I 
should like to know more of Mr. Neild.’ 

‘But, surely, men are not suffered to come and go here as 
they please?’ 

‘Oh, no. Mr. Neild’s papers have been examined. They 
are quite in order. He bears a pass from Washington, him- 
self.’ 

‘And his business here?’ 

‘To sell tobacco from his plantations.’ 

‘Why in Charles Town?’ 

‘Not in Charles Town. To Sir Andrew Carey for export. 
He claims to have traded for years with Sir Andrew, and 
that he has more cause than ever to do so now that Charles 
Town is one of the few ports open to trade.’ 

‘Faith, he seems to give a clear account of himself.’ 

‘He does, and yet ...I distrust him. It’s instinctive, I 
suppose. Non amo te, Sabidi... You understand! So if you 
are questioning Mrs. Latimer, ask her to tell you what she 
knows about him.’ 

‘I will. But it’s improbable she knows more than you do.’ 
He got up. 

‘T'll be going.’ He stepped to the door, leaning heavily 
upon his cane, to ease his gouty foot. There he paused, and 
looked back at Rutledge. ‘Feeling as you do about Carey, 
why don’t you relieve your mind by taking him into custody? 
You’ve enough on your mind these days without such petty 
worries as this.’ 

Again, and very slowly, Rutledge shook his head. ‘ Not so 
easy as it sounds. The tories in Charles Town give me 


262 THE CAROLINIAN 


trouble enough as it is. I don’t want to precipitate an out- 
break. I don’t want civil war in the town as well as in the 
province.’ 

Moultrie found it humorous. ‘Gadsmylife!’ he gurgled. 
‘It seems the fate of Governors of Charles Town never to be 
able to do what they should do to keep the peace lest they 
break it. It’s a quaint paradox, John.’ 

“Too quaint to be amusing,’ said Rutledge, who was not 
easily amused. 





CHAPTER V 
JONATHAN NEILD 


F Rutledge’s mistrust of Sir Andrew Carey’s Quaker 

visitor was as intuitive as he represented — and neither 
our faith in Rutledge’s veracity nor our knowledge of what 
subsequently came to pass justifies any other assumption — 
it is a proof that the Governor’s intuitions were keen, indeed. 

The precise manner of Sir Andrew Carey’s reconciliation 
with Myrtle may be briefly told. When he lay ill, immedi- 
ately after his enforced return to Charles Town, Dr. Parker, 
who was summoned to attend him, almost despaired of his 
life. Because of this, and knowing how affairs stood between 
the Baronet and his daughter, the good doctor, who was the 
friend of both, went to her at once with news of his condi- 
tion. He urged her, for the sake of her own future peace of 
mind, to put all rancour behind her now, and to render her 
father the loving care that might yet save his life, or, at worst, 
might soothe his end. 

She required no urging. Her only doubt was whether her 
father would receive her. Upon this the physician reassured 
her. Her father was in no condition to refuse. And so, with 
the connivance of old Remus, who wept for joy at beholding 
her once more in his master’s house, she installed herself at 
her unconscious father’s bedside, to nurse him with a devo- 
tion akin to that which she had shown Harry some three 
years ago. For four days and three nights, almost without 
intermission, she remained at the post of duty until he was 
restored once more to consciousness and the crisis was over- 
past. 

Then she had withdrawn, and she had left it to Dr. 
Parker and Remus to tell him what she had done, and to 
plead with him to receive her. 


254 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘But for her tender care of you, Sir Andrew,’ the doctor 
told him, ‘my physic could have accomplished nothing. She 
has saved your life.’ 

‘So, so,’ said that relentless old man on a note of mockery. 
‘But who bade her do it?’ 

‘I did,’ said Dr. Parker. 

‘You did? You did? Really, really! Hum! A damned 
liberty on your part, Parker.’ 

‘I desired to save your life, Sir Andrew. Perhaps you'll 
consider that was a damned liberty, too.’ 

‘Tchah! tchah!’ Inarticulately the Baronet expressed his 
irritability. His temper was so soured in those days that he 
was regarded by all the world as a perverse, intractable old 
man whom it was a thankless task to serve. ‘What you did 
was your business, and you shall be paid for it. But what 
Mrs. Latimer may have done upon your invitation, as you 
tell me, was an infernal impertinence in you.’ 

The doctor kept his temper. 

‘Your daughter, sir...’ 

‘Damnation, man,’ Sir Andrew interrupted him with a 
fury extraordinary in one so weak, ‘don’t you know that I 
have no daughter? Don’t I speak English, or don’t you 
understand the language? Which is it? There! You mean 
Mrs. Latimer, I suppose. Well, I do not desire the acquaint- 
ance of Mrs. Latimer. That she should have thrust herself 
upon me when I was in no condition to have her turned out 
was an impertinence in her and an impertinence in you. I 
have nothing more to say about it.’ 

There was a savage finality in the words, and, not to excite 
him further, the doctor withdrew and came in sorrow to beg 
Myrtle to have patience. 

‘I shall prevail with him yet,’ he assured her with a confi- 
dence he was not dolt enough to feel before such unchristian 
obstinacy as Sir Andrew’s. ‘But I must wait until he is 
stronger. To-morrow or the next day, perhaps.’ 


JONATHAN NEILD 255 


She withdrew, to return upon the morrow. But both on 
that day and on the next, the doctor put her off with the 
same tale of failure and the same hope for the future, and 
meanwhile she learnt that her father was gaining strength 
so rapidly that he actually insisted upon transacting busi- 
ness with a back-country trader who had come to visit 
him. 

It happened, however, that when she came on the third 
day she was met by Parker with so joyous an expression on 
his face that it required no words to convey his news of the 
miracle that had been wrought. Her father consented to see 
her. 

She found Sir Andrew sitting up in bed, propped by pil- 
lows; and she observed at once the change that less than four 
years had wrought in him. He had lost much of his earlier 
fleshiness, and his illness now had reduced him further, so 
that his face looked almost gaunt, its heavy bone structures 
starkly defined. There was no gladness in the pale blue eyes 
that were turned upon her, and the lips were twisted into a 
vinegary smile suggestive rather of cruelty than forgiveness. 

She went down on her knees beside his bed. 

‘Father! Dear father!’ 

He spoke quietly, yet with the faintest bitterness. ‘Parker 
tells me that you have saved my life. Well, well! Odd that 
you should be at pains to save a life which you robbed of 
everything that made it estimable. But...I forgive you, 
Myrtle! I expected too much, perhaps. I rated you higher 
than your worth.’ 

‘Father!’ It was all that she could say. But her hand 
reached out for his, and when she had found it, he allowed it 
to lie in hers. 

That he should not more graciously express the forgive- 
ness he professed to extend did not at all surprise her. She 
knew his hard, unyielding nature, and was thankful at the 
moment to have his forgiveness on any terms. There was so 


256 THE CAROLINIAN 


much she desired to say. Above all, she wanted to tell him 
about Andrew, the grandson she had named after him. But 
his manner raised barriers to any tenderness, to any in- 
timacy. 

He asked questions. First, he inquired more or less for- 
mally after her health and desired news of Mauma Dido. 
Next he spoke a little of the plantation which had been 
wrested from him, of the slaves who had been appropriated 
by the rebel government for its seditious labours, and of 
other matters as far removed from the things that should lie 
between father and daughter. Almost he conveyed the im- 
pression that he was making conversation. Nor did even 
this continue long. Presently he professed himself tired, but 
desired her to come soon again. 

She was almost glad to escape, and she went home wonder- 
ing whether the old severance was not really preferable to 
this bitterly cruel make-believe reconciliation. For that was 
how she viewed it. 

On the morrow, however, she found him much better dis- 
posed, just as he was clearly much better in health. He was 
up when she arrived, wrapped in a bedgown and occupying 
an easy-chair. He had a smile of greeting for her, and his 
conversation to-day actually led the way to the very things 
of which yesterday she had desired to talk. 

He wanted to know about the boy, and listened with a 
faint smile about his lips to the eloquence of her maternal 
pride. When he learnt that her son had been named Andrew, 
his smile broadened; and too readily she attributed this to 
tenderness. His next words disillusioned her. 

“You thought by that to move me to make him my heir, 
eh?’ And the fierce old eyes stabbed at her from under his 
beetling brows. 

It was as if he had struck her with a whip. ‘Father!’ she 
cried out, and, when his little crackle of laughter had 
spluttered out, she gave him a fuller answer: 


JONATHAN NEILD 257 


‘It is unworthy of you to imagine such calculation in me. 
Harry’s wealth is far beyond our needs.’ 

‘It may not always be so,’ he warned her. ‘When this 
war is over, when these rebels have been whipped into sub- 
mission, there will be a heavy reckoning for those who have 
borne arms against their King. But I am glad you are not 
counting upon inheritance from me. For I have disposed 
otherwise. It is as well that you should know. All that I 
may die possessed of goes to your Cousin Robert. That is an 
act of commonest justice. It at once rewards merit and 
punishes unfilial conduct.’ 

Pain robbed her of all answer. The money was nothing. 
But to be disinherited by a parent is to be outcast. 

‘Well?’ he asked her after a pause. ‘Have you nothing to 
say?e? 

‘Nothing, father.’ She held herself bravely in control. ‘If 
that is your wish, Iam content. And if you will consider the 
disinheritance as the end of our punishment, I am more than 
content.’ 

‘So, so,’ he muttered. ‘There, there! I said it only to test 
you; to test the sincerity of your desire to be reconciled. I 
am glad you stand the test so well, Myrtle. Very glad.’ He 
turned to give her a smile, but she saw quite clearly through 
his poor attempt to deceive her. There was a false ring in his 
words. He was as a man who, realizing that his feelings have 
betrayed him into saying too much, seeks to retract. She 
imagined, being herself charitable, that he did so out of re- 
gret for having unnecessarily wounded her. 

Then, to her increasing amazement, he actually desired 
news of Harry: how and where was he, and what particular 
activities engaged him. She answered his questions shortly, 
giving him no more details than were necessary, because of 
her feeling that her replies could not possibly do other than 
nourish his bitterness. 

When he had drawn from her that Harry was with Lin- 


258 THE CAROLINIAN 


coln’s army guarding the crossings of the Savannah, he 
laughed aloud. ‘And these ragamuffins think they hold Pre- 
vost in check, do they?’ he scoffed. ‘Ridiculous! What are 
their numbers?’ 

‘I am not sure,’ she answered. ‘But I believe at least five 
thousand.’ 

‘Five thousand!’ It was an ejaculation of mockery, which 
brought a flush to her cheeks, since it seemed to include 
Harry himself. To combat his contempt, to inculcate in 
him respect for the side her husband served, she made 
haste to assure him that Lincoln’s army was soon to be 
reinforced. | 

‘They are enlisting militia in North Carolina and else- 
where to go to their support,’ she assured him. 

‘Bah! Arabble. D’ye think such fellows can stand against 
trained soldiers — a pack of out-at-elbow ruffians ill-armed 
and probably without sufficient ammunition.’ 

He seemed to wait for an answer. But she had none to 
offer, not knowing, indeed, what might be the truth of the 
matter. Her silence urged him to question her more directly. 

‘What artillery have they? For, after all, it is artillery that 
counts. What guns have they, that they should hope to hold 
the British! Tell me that?’ It was an argumentative 
challenge, and had she possessed the information she would 
have advanced it to prove him wrong in the contemptuous 
conviction he suggested. As it was, her ignorance compelled 
her to confess that she did not know. 

He turned peevish. ‘You don’t know. You don’t know! 
Bah! And you want to argue with me; you pretend to tell me 
that Lincoln’s riff-raff can stop a British army! Hah!’ 

‘It was just such riff-raff stopped Burgoyne,’ she answered, 
stung by his mockery, and flung him by that reminder into 
such a passion that she bitterly upbraided herself for her 
momentary loss of temper. 

But he simmered down again, and was gentle with her in 


JONATHAN NEILD 259 


the end, bidding her to come soon again to see him, even 
suffering her to kiss him at parting. 

As she was descending the stairs, a man advanced along the 
hall, going towards the dining-room. His back was turned to 
her, and he stepped quickly with a brisk, martial step and the 
upright carriage of a tall, well-knit figure, so familiar that she 
paused a moment in sheer amazement. The next moment she 
was speeding down the stairs, and after him. And as she ran, 
instinctively she called to him: 

‘Robert! Cousin Robert!’ 

He checked and turned as she came breathlessly up with 
him. She shrank back in fresh amazement. The man’s hair, 
long and black, hung like the ears of a spaniel about a face 
that was tanned almost to the colour of an Indian’s. His 
countenance was of an odd and singular blankness. He wore 
an expression of perpetual surprise, resulting from a total lack 
of eyebrows. The lower part of his face, his mouth and chin, 
were lost in a dense black beard, whose incongruous and un- 
usual growth gave him the air described by Rutledge — for 
this was that same Neild — as that of a backwoodsman. He 
was dressed in a suit of plain brown homespun of an old- 
fashioned cut, such as was affected by Quakers. Quakerish, 
too, was the round black hat he carried, the plain white linen 
bands at his throat and the steel buckles on his black square- 
toed shoes. 

He spoke, and his voice was nasal and harsh. 

‘Madam, my name is Jonathan, not Robert. Jonathan 
Neild.’ 

She stared into the dark brown eyes that were stolidly 
regarding her out of that swarthy face. She was confused. 
She laughed a little. How could her fancy so have tricked her? 

‘Your pardon, sir. I see I was mistook.’ 

He bowed in silence, and turned again to resume his way. 
But no sooner was his back towards her than the illusion re- 
turned. Rooted where she stood, she watched him pass into 


260 THE CAROLINIAN 


the dining-room; she saw him still even after he had passed 
out of her sight, saw the swing of those square shoulders, the 
elastic step, and an indefinable character in his movements 
that were unquestionably Robert Mandeville’s. 

On a sudden, irresistible conviction she went after him. 

About to take his seat at table, with Remus standing by his 
chair, he raised his eyes in mild inquiry when she plunged into 
the room. Again she checked. It was fantastic. This man 
was not Robert Mandeville. He was nothing like Robert 
Mandeville. And then the eyes of her memory beheld his 
back once more, the set of his shoulders, the characteristic 
walk. 

‘Leave us, Remus,’ she said shortly. 

The negro’s plain hesitation and his sudden nervousness 
were so much confirmation. He showed the whites of his eyes 
as he turned to the stranger, waiting obviously for commands 
from him. 

‘Do as thou art bid,’ said the harsh, nasal voice, and Remus 
in obvious uneasiness effaced himself. 

When they were alone, she came forward until there was 
only the table between them. She fought down her agitation, 
and-strove to speak calmly. 

‘Robert, what does this mean?’ 

‘I have told thee, madam, my name is Jonathan.’ 

‘There’s not the need to repeat the lie,’ she answered him. 
‘I know you. What you have done to yourself I can’t guess. 
But that you are Robert Mandeville, I know — as surely as I 
know that I am Myrtle Latimer.’ 

He revealed strong white teeth behind that black tangle of 
beard as gently he smiled and shook his head. 

‘Thy fancy plays some trick upon thee, madam. I tell thee 
again, I am Jonathan Neild. A planter and a merchant, and 
I am here to trade with Sir Andrew Carey.’ 

‘Ah! To trade in what?’ 

It was as if she presented a pistol, and the sneer that argues 


JONATHAN NEILD 261 


knowledge startled him a little. But this was barely per- 
ceptible in his manner. 

‘In tobacco, madam. I am a tobacco-planter from Virginia.’ 

‘From Virginia? With that accent?’ 

‘I was not born in Virginia, madam.’ 

‘And that’s the first true word you’ve spoke. I know well 
enough where you were born. And I know well enough what 
your trade is with my father.’ A flush of indignation was 
mounting to her cheeks. ‘I know now why he pretended 
so much interest in Harry, why he probed me with questions 
of the intentions of Lincoln’s army, its numbers and equip- 
ment. You’re here as a spy, Captain Mandeville. That is 
the trade you drive.’ 

‘Madam, thy insults touch me not, since ’tis clear they are 
intended for another whom you persist in supposing me to be.’ 

She stamped her foot in exasperation. 

‘Very well, then. You shall be afforded the opportunity of 
satisfying Governor Rutledge of your identity.’ 

The threat, to her amazement, discomposed him not at all. 
He spread his hands and spoke in a tone of mild protest. 

‘Madam, I have done so already. A stranger may not come 
and go quite freely in a land that is given over to the godless- 
ness of war. Your Governor has challenged me already, and 
my papers have been laid before him. I assure thee, madam, 
they have satisfied him.’ 

She leaned forward. ‘That may be. But are they proof 
against the scrutiny that must follow when I tell the Governor 
that I know you for Robert Mandeville?’ 

‘IT trust so, madam. Thou wilt commit an idle foolishness.’ 

‘And if I bid them shave off your beard, and wash your 
face?’ 

There was silence for a long moment during which his dark 
eyes pondered her. They found her hard and resolute. 
Suddenly he shrugged and laughed, and it was almost as if he 
tossed aside a cloak. 


262 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘I surrender, Myrtle,’ he announced in his natural voice. 
‘Your eyes are too sharp. Better surrender to you than to 
Governor Rutledge.’ 

He had fatuously imagined that she but pressed him so as 
to force him to disclose himself, and thus satisfy her that her 
acumen had not been at fault. But there was no easing of her 
hardness. 

‘The one must follow upon the other,’ she informed him 
coldly. 

‘What!’ It was a cry of sheer horror. ‘You would betray 
me? Me, Myrtle?’ 

‘Isn’t betrayal the purpose for which you are here?’ 

‘No,’ he answered her with convincing emphasis. ‘It is not.’ 

‘What else, then?’ 

‘What else?’ He was almost indignant. ‘Can’t you imagine 
it, considering your father’s state? I had word of his condition, 
and I came at once out of solicitude for him, to do what I 
could. My solicitude was the sharper because I knew that he 
had no other kin at hand to stand by him, perhaps in his 
extremity. That is my offence, Myrtle.’ 

If he thought to melt her with that story, he was wrong. 
‘You had word of my father’s condition, you say. That is an 
admission that you had been in communication with him.’ 

‘Why not? We are kin, after all. What is there unnatural 
in our communicating?’ 

Remembering her father’s announcement that he had made 
Mandeville his heir, she imagined that she held the explana- 
tion of his presence. But there was something else here that 
she did not understand. 

“When did you learn my father’s condition?’ 

‘A month ago.’ 

“Where were you at the time?’ 

‘With Prevost at Savannah. I am serving with him now. I 
was with Clinton, but I exchanged when Prevost’s army was 
ordered South.’ 


JONATHAN NEILD 263 


She shook her head and smiled a little scornfully. ‘And you 
would pretend to me that you grew that beard in a month? 
Nay, in less than a month, for it must have taken you at least 
a week to get here.’ 

‘No. I don’t pretend that.’ 

‘Then how do you reconcile it with the story you have told 
me?’ 

He looked at her between vexation and wonder. ‘You are 
too shrewd for me,’ he said. 

‘Shrewd enough to know where my duty les, and so are 
you, Captain Mandeville.’ 

If he was alarmed, he did not betray it. 

“Your duty to whom? There is a duty to your father, to 
your family, and even perhaps a little to myself, Myrtle.’ He 
spoke quietly, almost humbly. 

‘And the duty to my husband? For you will remember 
that I am the wife of Major Latimer of the Continental Army.’ 

His dark eyes grew wistful. 

‘If you feel it inevitably your duty to denounce me, I will 
give you the last proof of my regard by submitting. But it is 
to punish me a little heavily for the affection for your father 
which has brought me here into the lion’s den. I knew that I 
was risking my life when I came. But I hardly thought that 
yours, Myrtle, would be the hands to destroy me.’ 

That softened her. It brought back memories of the past, 
of all that she owed to Mandeville, of all, indeed, that Harry 
owed to him, although Harry, blinded by prejudice, would not 
admit the debt, and the subject had been a fruitful source of 
disagreement in the unhappy early days of their married life. 
For she had never abandoned the persuasion that Mande- 
ville — out of concern for herself — had repeatedly shielded 
Harry, and that it was to Mandeville’s influence with Lord 
William that Harry owed the respite which had enabled him 
to leave Charles Town after the Featherstone affair. 

‘What am I to do?’ she asked, and clenched her hands. ‘If 


264 THE CAROLINIAN 


I could be assured that you have not come here to spy... 
But I can’t be. My reason tells me that you have, and if I 
don’t denounce you, I become your accomplice.’ 

‘If you do, you are my executioner.’ Gently he smiled. 
‘Poor Myrtle! The choice is difficult, I know. At least, I hope 
it is. I hope you would not lightly sacrifice the life of a man 
who is ready enough, himself, to sacrifice it in your service.’ 
And then he changed his tone, to one of argument, as if all his 
purpose were disinterestedly to help her in the parlous choice 
with which she was confronted. ‘Listen, Myrtle. You say 
that Iam here to spy. But to spy out what? What can I learn 
here that we do not already know? What information that I 
may bear back to Prevost can affect that which is inevitably 
to happen?’ 

“What is to happen?’ she asked him breathlessly. 

He made a little gesture of pity for a blindness that could 
not perceive what he had to tell. 

‘At Savannah, Prevost is in sufficient strength now to drive 
through to Charles Town when he pleases. What is there to 
withstand him? A handful of steady Continentals and a 
rabble of undisciplined militia led by an incompetent com- 
mander. Yet to make quite sure, Prevost awaits reinforce- 
ments. In a month, perhaps, in two months at most, he will 
move. And then it will be a march. Nothing more. Within 
two months the British Southern Army will be in Charles 
Town. Be-quite sure of that. For there is nothing to dispute 
our passage. Can anything that I might have gleaned here — 
assuming that I am, indeed, the spy you insist upon thinking 
me — alter or avert that fact? Answer the question for your- 
self, Myrtle. Ask yourself what advantage to your husband’s 
side can result from handing me over to be shot or hanged. 
And ask yourself at the same time, if it might not be well in 
the hour when Prevost arrives that you should have in his 
immediate following a friend as devoted and loyal as myself. 
I have saved your husband aforetime, Myrtle, although you 


JONATHAN NEILD 265 


may little have guessed quite all that I was sacrificing when I 
did so.’ 

‘Sacrificing? What do you mean? What... sacrifice?’ 

He pondered a moment, then took the plunge. It could do 
no harm, and it might serve his desperate turn. His knowledge 
of humanity assured him that the woman did not live who 
could listen unmoved to an avowal of love. 

‘I mean, Myrtle, that you were, and still are, dearer to me 
than anything in all this world. In those old happy days here 
in Charles Town, when first I knew you, when I was so often 
in your company at Fairgrove, the world became for Robert 
Mandeville a very different place from anything that it had 
ever been before or that it could ever be again. Yet I, who 
would have given my life for you, loved you so devotedly, so 
selflessly, that I gladly gave life to another man so that he 
might rob me of you. That was because...’ 

‘Don’t, Robert!’ 

It was like a cry of pain, and instantly obedient he ceased. 
The glow passed from his face as if he had put on a mask. 
Impassive once more, his head slightly bowed, he stood be- 
fore her. | 

‘Robert, I never knew...I never dreamed...’ 

‘And I have done wrong to tell you now. I was carried 
away by an impulse I should have resisted. God knows I 
have resisted it often enough in the past. Forgive me.’ 

‘Oh, what am I to do? What am I to do?’ She was white 
to the lips in her emotion and distress. She crushed fist into 
palm, and wrung her hands in an agony of doubt and inde- 
cision. 

‘Do?’ he said. ‘Why, that, at least, is simple. Repay the 
debt that lies between me and Harry Latimer. Give me the 
same respite that I gave him. Leave to depart. He had forty- 
eight hours through my intervention. Twenty-four will 
suffice for me. If Iam not gone by to-morrow, then denounce 
me to your Governor. Am I asking too much? If so...’ 


266 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘No, no, Robert.’ She faltered and paused, looking at him 
in distraction. ‘If...if I dothis...if Llet you go now, and 
say no word to any one... will you, on your side, pledge me 
your word that you will not return to Charles Town or at- 
tempt to hold communication with my father while the war 
lasts? Will you do that?’ 

‘Not to return, yes. I pledge you my word freely and sin- 
cerely. But as to holding communication with your fa- 
taegy.(.” 

‘You must promise that, too. You must. It is the least, 
the very least, upon which I can concede so much.’ 

He bowed his head. ‘Very well. I promise it. I will leave 
to-night.’ 

This, you will remember, had happened a month ago, 
whilst Harry Latimer was with Moultrie at Purysburg. 


CHAPTER VE 
PREVOST’S ADVANCE 


OULTRIE went home from his interview with Rut- 

ledge, through a street that was seething with an 
activity very different from that of which it had been the 
scene in the old days. And it wore a different aspect in itself. 
The devastating fire of two years ago, which had devoured 
the houses at its foot, left a wide gap through which there was 
a clear view of the Bay and its shipping. 

Soldiers thronged the thoroughfare: raw recruits from the 
country on their way out to the race-course to be drilled, 
trailing a brass field piece after them; men from the battery 
on Hadrell’s Point, men up in town from Fort Moultrie, 
which was now garrisoned by Marion’s force; rangers, in- 
fantrymen, artillerymen, and engineers; a few Continentals 
with the formidable, competent air of veteran soldiers, and 
a preponderance of militia, than whom no men could have 
looked less military. 

And woven into this warlike pattern were the ordi- 
nary townsfolk: a few fine ladies, escorted by officers, 
women of the humbler class escorting the rank and file; 
with here and there an elderly prosperous planter, too 
old or too loyal in principles to don a uniform and take 
the field. 

Some wore anxious faces. But in the main the crowd was 
gay and light-hearted. The clouds of war were as yet remote. 
The invader’s only attempt to set foot on Carolinian soil had 
been whipped back by Moultrie, and whilst it was already 
known to be Prevost’s intention to march on Charles Town, 
yet it was also known that General Lincoln was in sufficient 
force at Purysburg to hold him. Moultrie’s confident assur- 
ance that the British would have to ask leave to cross the 


268 THE CAROLINIAN 


Savannah had been communicated to the people, and was 
unquestioningly accepted by them. 

It was the dinner hour when the General reached home, and 
he found Myrtle and Harry awaiting him to go to table. 

Not until dinner was at an end, and the decanters, which 
Moultrie eyed fondly, but from which his gout debarred him, 
were on the board, did he broach the matter, fatuous though 
he deemed it, that was agitating Rutledge. 

‘Myrtle, my dear, I hear that you are at last reconciled 
with your father.’ 

She faced him, with a frank, open smile. 

‘Yes. I have just been telling Harry,’ and she looked 
fondly up at her slim, straight husband standing immediately 
behind her chair. ‘And it has made me so happy, General. It 
has brought me a peace that has been absent from my heart 
for years. For although latterly custom was dulling the ache, 
still the ache was ever there, underneath all.’ 

‘I am glad, child, and so will you be, Harry.’ 

‘Indeed, I am. Nothing since our marriage has made me 
happier than this knowledge.’ 

‘But Sir Andrew has not yet made his peace with you?’ 

Myrtle did not give him time to answer. 

‘That will come, General. I am sure it will come. Down in 
his heart my father has always loved Harry, and it is my hope 
that presently, perhaps when this dreadful war is over, he will 
take him back into his affection.’ 

Moultrie mumbled amiabilities, and dragged up a foot- 
stool to ease his foot that was particularly troublesome to- 
day. Then, rather ashamed of himself, and feeling singularly 
mean, but true to his promise to Rutledge, he set himself 
further to question her, a cloak of interest upon his prying 
intentions. 

‘Tell me how it came about, my dear. Did you take your 
courage in both hands and go to him, or did he bend his stiff 
old neck at last, and send for you?’ 


PREVOST’S ADVANCE 269 


With the same candour as before, she gave him the story of 
how the event had been brought about by Dr. Parker. 

‘I see,’ said Moultrie, when she had done. ‘Well, well! I 
am glad it should end so.’ He helped himself to leaf from the 
box Harry pushed towards him. Whilst filling his pipe, he 
went probing on with a skill in masking his approach which 
filed him at once with self-admiration and disgust. ‘Odd 
how the habits of a lifetime cling! No sooner has the old man 
recovered strength enough than his thoughts and such energy 
as he commands must be turning to trade again.’ 

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘And it has been a rare medicine to him. 
The occupation has restored him wonderfully.’ 

‘It must ha’ done to enable him to be transacting business 
in person as I am told he is doing.’ Moultrie lighted his pipe 
from the kindled taper. Casually he asked: ‘Have you met 
many of his trader friends on your visits to him?’ 

‘I have seen a few of them,’ she replied as casually. 

‘There’s a Quaker who comes to sell him tobacco. A fellow 
from Virginia, I am told. Have you ever met him there?’ 

Was it mere chance that her eyes fell away from his own at 
that moment? And was it merely his fancy that the move- 
ment of her slight bosom became perceptible an instant later? 
Was there really a pause, or did it merely seem so to his ears 
that were straining so keenly for the answer? Those ques- 
tions he asked himself with the instantaneousness of thought 
before she made reply in a calm voice. 

‘I may have done. I have met one or two. What was his 
name?’ 

‘His name?’ He searched his memory. ‘Neild, I believe.’ 

‘Neild?’ she repeated slowly, and after a pause she an- 
swered slowly, like one who is not very certain: ‘Yes. I be- 
lieve I did meet a man of that name.’ She admitted it re- 
luctantly, fearing dangers in complete denial. Abruptly she 
added the question: ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He laughed good-humouredly. ‘They grow good tobacco 


270 THE CAROLINIAN 


in Virginia, and good tobacco is becoming very scarce these 
days. If this fellow should happen to be about and have any 
fine leaf to sell, I should be glad to know it. But you don’t 
particularly remember him?’ 

She shook her head slowly, making pretence the while to be 
thinking. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Not... particularly.’ 

“You never spoke to him?’ 

‘I may have done. I think I did once, meeting him casu- 
ally. But I cannot be sure.’ 

‘Ah, well. It is no great matter.’ And Moultrie dismissed 
the subject and turned to speak of other things. 

He did not think that she had prevaricated; chiefly because 
his easy-going nature — that one fault in a soldier which Gen- 
eral Lee had deplored in him — preferred not to think so. 

Myrtle was left uneasy, not so much lest the identity of 
Neild should be suspected, but because of the deceit which she 
herself had practised, not only upon Moultrie, but upon her 
husband. More than once during those few days that Harry 
was in Charles Town she had sought an opportunity of telling 
him. But the fact that she had yielded to her hesitation and 
had not told him immediately on his return, made it impossi- 
ble to tell him now. The very delay seemed to increase the 
tale there was to tell, burdening it with explanations which in 
themselves are always incriminating. 

She had been foolish to allow herself to be repelled by the 
thought of his own senseless jealousy of Mandeville, which he 
had more than once betrayed. That jealousy of his, were she 
to tell him now, would be more than ever fired by her silence 
on the subject since his coming. She was committed to a 
course, and to that course she had better keep. After all, 
what harm could follow now? Mandeville had pledged him- 
self never to return to Charles Town whilst the war continued. 
Therefore, what harm could her silence do? Or what good 
could be accomplished by her speaking? 

And so when Harry departed once more from Charles Town 


PREVOST’S ADVANCE 271 


a few days later in Moultrie’s company, it was still without 
any knowledge of his wife’s interview with Mandeville at her 
father’s. 

They got back to the camp at Purysburg in a downpour of 
rain on the 26th of February, to receive the details of the rout 
of Boyd’s forces and to find General Lincoln so encouraged by 
this success as to have determined upon more extensive oper- 
ations against the British. He had detached two thousand 
men under General Ashe and sent them up the river to Au- 
gusta with orders to cut off a strong English force posted 
there under Colonel Campbell. 

Campbell, however, did not choose to wait. Upon per- 
ceiving the massing of troops opposite to him and fearing a 
crossing below to cut him off from the main army at Savan- 
nah, he broke up his camp and marched briskly south, along 
the right bank of the river. 

Ashe crossed in pursuit on the 25th, the day before Moul- 
trie’s return to Purysburg, and reached Brier Creek two days 
later. Here, just above the creek’s junction with the Savan- 
nah, he took station, and thence on the 2d of March he re- 
ported himself safe, being in a strong position and the enemy 
apparently afraid of him. 

It must be assumed that he based his opinion of the enemy’s 
fear of him upon the fact that no enemy showed himself be- 
fore his lines. The reason, however, was very different from 
all that General Ashe supposed. At the very moment that he 
was sending off that complacent report, Prevost was making a 
wide détour to come round and take him in the rear, an event 
which happened on the morrow. 

Scarcely, indeed, had his report reached the General at 
Purysburg than on the heels of it came Colonel Eaton, who 
had swum the river with his horse, galloping into camp with 
the terrible news that Ashe was cut off and completely 
routed. 

Never, indeed, was any army more utterly surprised, panic- 


272 THE CAROLINIAN 


stricken, and broken than that army on Brier Creek. Ap- 
palled by the sudden and totally unexpected appearance of 
the British, the militiamen had flung away their weapons al- 
most without firing a shot, and had fled through swamp and 
flood, many of them perishing by water in their haste to es- 
cape from fire. 

The effect upon the Carolinian army, which had thus at one 
blow lost nearly a third of its effectives, was a dejection easy 
to conceive. Fortunately, recruits were coming in which raised 
their numbers once more, until by the end of the month they 
were almost at their original strength. 

At the beginning of April, Lincoln was absent, summoned 
to Orangeburg by Governor Rutledge, there to confer with 
him upon the plan of campaign to be pursued. He returned, 
and word ran through the camp that they would very shortly 
be taking the field against Prevost. There was an activity of 
preparation and feverish drilling of the new recruits that were 
sent hurriedly down to them. But before anything happened, 
Lincoln was again summoned to Orangeburg by the Governor, 
and this time he took Moultrie with him, who in his turn 

went accompanied by Latimer. 

_ Here in Orangeburg they found a considerable camp where 
some three thousand men were in training under Rutledge’s 
own eye. 

Lincoln had given Moultrie to understand that the Goy- 
ernor had conceived a coup which if successful should 
certainly end the war in the South, and might end it alto- 
gether. But he was not permitted to disclose any details. His 
own respect for Moultrie’s opinion made him anxious that 
Moultrie should now be taken into Rutledge’s confidence, so 
that he might contribute, perhaps, something to the plan out 
of his own military experience and acumen. 

But a disappointment awaited Moultrie, the more keenly 
felt, perhaps, because of his relations of intimate personal 
friendship with Rutledge. He was admitted to certain of the 


PREVOST’S ADVANCE 273 


conferences, but not to any of the vital ones. And when at last 
he departed again with Lincoln to return to camp, he knew as 
little of what was afoot as when he had last left it. 

One item of interest, however, he had gleaned from one of 
the few conferences which he did attend. Prevost had put 
forward a proposal for the neutrality of Georgia for the re- 
mainder of the war. Rutledge informed them of it, and that 
was one of the few occasions on which Moultrie heard him 
laugh. 

‘It is too absurd and ridiculous to require a moment’s 
consideration,’ the Governor had pronounced. ‘Indeed, it 
scarce merits an answer. But an answer I shall send, to inform 
General Prevost of just that.’ 

Once back in Purysburg, Lincoln made his dispositions 
as swiftly as it lay within his sluggish capacity to do anything. 
He was a stout, slow-moving man, himself, slow of thought 
and slow of speech, and therefore slow in all things. 

But at last by the 23d of April he was ready, and, leaving 
Moultrie with a thousand men to watch Prevost, he marched 
away, bag and baggage, horse, foot, and artillery. He went 
north along the river, still swollen by the heavy rains, but now 
settling under finer weather. His avowed design was to re- 
enter Georgia at Augusta, as Ashe had done, and to march 
down the southern bank upon Savannah. 

From the orders he received, Moultrie inferred that 
Lincoln was persuaded Prevost would not wait for him. If 
Prevost attempted to cross, Moultrie was to delay him as 
long as possible, falling back when he must, but disputing 
every foot of the road to Charles Town should the British 
reveal the design of marching upon it. Meanwhile, an express 
was despatched to Rutledge at Orangeburg, to inform him 
that action was begun, so that he might remove himself to 
Charles Town with the new forces he had raised. 

As Lincoln had supposed, so things fell out. No sooner did 
Prevost obtain intelligence that the main body of Lincoln’s 


274 THE CAROLINIAN 


army had moved off than he crossed the Savannah in force, 
and drove Moultrie back. 

Above, Lincoln waited before crossing to Augusta until he 
had learnt that Prevost was on the left bank. Then over he 
went with his army, apparently to march upon the capital of 
Georgia, which was no longer defended. The explanation he 
gave out, so freely that intelligence of it reached Prevost, was 
that he regarded the British crossing as a feint to draw him out 
- of Georgia. But that he was not so to be drawn, and that he 
meant to occupy Savannah. 

Prevost will, no doubt, have laughed at the old sluggard 
and the notion of strategy which his pronouncement seemed 
to express. Well content to leave Lincoln’s army in Georgia 
and out of account for all military purposes, he thrust forward 
as rapidly as Moultrie would permit him, to possess himself of 
the capital of South Carolina. 

But at Pocotaligo certain doubts assailed him. Was 
Lincoln really as stupid as he represented himself, or was 
there here some subtlety at work which at present he did not 
perceive? That doubt kept him inert there for three days, 
until in the end the intelligences he received on every hand 
compelled him to dismiss it. The truth might seem too good 
to be true; but true it was. Lincoln to possess himself of an 
empty nest, had removed the only barrier that might have 
retarded or even resisted the British. It was for the British to 
take full advantage, and press on. 


CHAPTER VII 
RUTLEDGE’S NERVES 


REVOST now drove forward with an army that was 

between seven and eight thousand strong. But his 
progress being ever disputed by the retreating force under 
Moultrie, a fortnight was occupied in covering the eighty 
miles of ground that lie between the Savannah and the 
Ashley. Having crossed the Savannah on the 25th of April, 
Prevost reached the south bank of the Ashley on Sunday the 
oth of May, and encamped there facing the peninsula between 
the two rivers on the point of which stands Charles Town. 

Moultrie, having fallen back across the Ashley some hours 
ahead, had brought the weary remnant of his force — a bare 
six hundred to which rear-guard actions had reduced his 
original thousand — safely into a town that was humming 
like a beehive with the activity of preparation, and quaking a 
little, too, in apprehension of the shock that now impended. 

Rutledge had arrived the day before with his men from 
Orangeburg, and a small supplement of force had been added 
by the arrival of Count Pulaski, a gallant Pole urged by his 
sympathy with the cause of freedom to bear arms in defence 
of American Independence. He brought with him a hundred 
and sixty men of his legion. 

Although the invader had the advantage of a force nearly 
twice as numerous as that of the defenders, yet the men of 
Charles Town were far from being without hope of holding 
their own. 

Wonders had been wrought in the last nine days in the 
matter of fortifying the place, considering that when, on the 
ist of May, Major Latimer, sent forward by Moultrie for the 
purpose, had arrived in the town, he had found it utterly 


276 THE CAROLINIAN 


unprepared for an attack by land. The ferries of the Ashley 
were not then fortified and some weak defences were the only 
barrier across the Neck. 

Latimer had gone to work at once, with the stout co- 
operation of Lieutenant-Governor Bee and the Senate, and, 
having aroused the civil and military authorities to a sense of 
the danger, all those capable of labouring were at once im- 
pressed into service. An accomplished engineer, the Chevalier 
de Cambray, another of those distinguished foreign soldiers in 
the service of America, took charge of the works, and under 
his direction white men and black toiled day and night to 
throw up entrenchments. All houses in the northern suburb 
were burned down, and thanks to the retarding actions 
- fought by Moultrie, before the red-coats appeared on the 
banks of the Ashley, a strong line of fortifications had risen 
across the Neck, with abatis on which cannon were emplaced. 

This in itself was encouraging to the inhabitants, and when 
presently the stout-hearted and capable Moultrie, whose epic 
defence of Sullivan’s Island was not forgotten, rode in with 
his battered but cheerful troops, Charles Town’s heart was 
lifted up by hope. The grimly smiling, confident countenance 
of the easy-going General was in itself a moral tonic to all who 
beheld it. 

Rutledge, now haggard and worn, the fullness under his 
chin entirely vanished, his elegant coat sagging a little about 
his body which was shrunken by exertion, sleeplessness, and 
anxiety, displayed an unusual nervousness. It was deplored 
by some of those who perceived it, and who could not know 
that it was the nervousness of the man who has laid a heavy 
stake upon the board and who awaits the turn of wheel or 
card, dreading the issue, however heavy may be the odds in 
his own favour. As the next day came and went eventlessly, 
his nervousness increased, and on the evening of that Monday, 
he betrayed it in a rather singular and in him entirely unusual 
display of irritability, as shall presently be told. 


RUTLEDGE’S NERVES ony 


' He was to sup that night with Moultrie and the Latimers. 
But both he and Moultrie were late in arriving. Myrtle 
and Harry in the dining-room, where the table was laid and 
all prepared, awaited them. They were sitting together on the 
wide window-seat, Harry with his arm about Myrtle’s waist, 
her head on his shoulder and her eyes on Andrew, now a well- 
grown, chubby lad of three who was astride his father’s left 
knee, and at the moment deeply engrossed in unravelling one 
of the strands which he had detached from Harry’s shoulder- 
knot. 

These dear ones were Latimer’s one deep preoccupation in 
those days. But for their presence he would cheerfully have 
envisaged the coming assault. He had vainly sought to 
persuade Myrtle to withdraw from Charles Town. She had 
manifested a positive dread of leaving him at such a time, and 
a horror of availing herself of either of the alternatives he 
proposed. She had represented that they would be infinitely 
safer in the town itself. Even should it fall to Prevost, the 
British did not make war on women and children, and they 
had little personally to fear. The worst dangers were those of 
bombardment. But if she were to put to sea in an attempt to 
gain the West Indies, one of his proposals for her and Andrew, 
she would have to face the peril of falling into the hands of 
some of the ships moving along the coast; whilst if she adopted 
his other proposal and went up country to the Santee, she 
would know no peace from fear of the tory bands that still 
roved about the land, whose notorious ruthlessness and 
vindictive cruelty would keep her in a constant state of 
anxiety and dread. To this would be added anxiety and dread 
on the score of Harry himself, who would be distant from her. 

Thus, in the end, however reluctantly, yet perceiving the 
justice of what she urged, he had yielded. 

She had paid her father a visit that afternoon, and she had 
found him in a more fatherly mood than any he had yet 
displayed. 


278 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘It is his faith in the British arms,’ she was telling Harry. 
‘He is so confident that Prevost will prevail, and that it can 
be only a question of days before Charles Town surrenders, 
that he is softened by exultation.’ 

‘There will be a reaction if Prevost does not prevail — as, 
pray God, he will not.’ 

‘In that case father’s mood will not matter very much. 
But if Charles Town should capitulate, I think that father will 
stand our friend. In fact, he has as good as promised it. 
“‘There’s nothing for you to fear, Myrtle,” he told me. ‘‘My 
loyalty is well known, and I shall be there to welcome 
General Prevost when he enters. I shall have some influence 
with him; enough to make you safe.”’’ 

‘And to hang me,’ thought Harry, smiling to himself. 

As if she had read his thought and were answering it, she 
said: 

‘T think such a consummation would so uplift him that he 
might be disposed at last to make his peace with you, Harry, 
and extend his protection over you as well. So that whatever 
happens, there should be some gain for us.’ 

‘My dear!’ He was a little aghast. ‘Much as I should wel- 
come reconciliation with your father, you cannot think that I 
should welcome it at such a price.’ 

And then Julius came in, ushering Lieutenant Shubrick, a 
war-stained but cheerful young gentleman on duty in the 
lines. With him came a large, fair man who was bespattered 
with mud from his riding-boots to the collar of his full-skirted, 
biscuit-coloured coat. 

With an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, Harry set 
down the boy and rose. Myrtle rose with him. 

‘Tom!’ she cried, and held out both her hands to the new- 
comer who was grinning broadly as he advanced towards 
them. 

Disregarding Andrew, who furiously embraced one of his 
legs, and more furiously still demanded his attention with 


RUTLEDGE’S NERVES 279 


shrill, passionate shouts of ‘Daddy Harry! Daddy Harry!’ 
Latimer, too, held out a hand to Tom Izard, who thus un- 
expectedly made his appearance after an absence of three 
years and more, during which he had been campaigning with 
the Northern armies. 

Tom shook hands with each of them, almost expressionless 
save for his laughter. Then, laughing still, he turned to the 
officer who had accompanied him, and whose erstwhile official 
sternness had now given place to a smile. 

‘Well, sir? Are you satisfied that I am known here? Tell 
him my name, Harry, like a good fellow, so that he may get 
back to his duty without wasting further time on me.’ 

‘But why? What’s the matter?’ 

‘I’m under arrest. That’s all. You keep a devilish sharp 
lookout here. Having no papers, I was very properly stopped 
at the outposts, and brought here under guard.’ 

The lieutenant explained, holding himself stiffly at atten- 
tion. 

‘Governor’s orders, sir. Issued this afternoon. All attempt- 
ing to pass the lines, either coming or going, to be detained 
and brought to headquarters. This gentleman describes him- 
self as Captain Izard, of the Continental Army. But...’ 

‘That’s right, Shubrick,’ Latimer interrupted. ‘Captain 
Izard is known to me. A friend of mine. I’ll answer for him, 
Shubrick. You may go.’ 

The officer bowed, and went out, Julius following. Before 
- the door closed again, they heard his sharp order to the guard 
outside, and the tramp of departing feet. 

Andrew had ceased his clamour for Daddy Harry’s atten- 
tion, and was now entirely engrossed in the big stranger. With 
eyes as blue as cornflowers and as round as saucers, he pon- 
dered Captain Izard, who meanwhile had scarcely perceived 
him. 

‘What is it?’ he was asking. ‘Is the Governor nervous?’ 

‘He has cause to be,’ Harry replied. ‘The place is full of 


280 THE CAROLINIAN 


traitors, and with our strength considerably below what it 
should be and what Prevost should have every reason for 
supposing it, naturally Rutledge takes no risks of information 
leaking out. He suspects, perhaps with reason, that there’s 
been enough of it already. But tell us of yourself, Tom. 
Where are you from?’ 

‘Middlebrook, with secret despatches for your omnipotent 
Governor. Gadslife! Rutledge has risen in the world since 
last we parted.’ 

‘He deserves it. A strong man.’ 

‘Oh, he’s strong, and unpleasant, too, which is the way of 
most strong men. And who’s this?’ He bent over Andrew, 
who had drawn quite close to him, and the youngster himself 
replied stoutly: 

‘And’ew Fitz’oy Latimer.’ 

‘Lord!’ said Tom, and picked him up so abruptly as to 
scare him, which set him kicking and howling for ‘Daddy 
Harry!’ 

‘Another strong man,’ protested Tom at the a of the 
struggle, setting down the youngster. 

Myrtle removed him to the care of Mauma Dido, and peace 
was restored. 

Julius fetched the Captain a glass of grog, and meanwhile 
the Captain sprawled in a chair, his long legs stretched before 
him, and talked. He had nothing to add to their knowledge of 
American affairs, but a deal to tell them of Washington whom 
he almost deified, descanting upon his fortitude, his genius, 
his patience, and his indomitable strength. 

He was still talking when the door opened, and the late- 
comers, Rutledge and Moultrie, came in. Both were weary, 
and the riding-clothes of the Governor were as dusty as the 
faded uniform of the General, but, whereas Rutledge’s face 
had an anxious, careworn look, the broad, rugged countenance 
of Moultrie was cheerful as ever. 

Myrtle would have rung at once for Julius to serve supper, 


RUTLEDGE’S NERVES 281 


but she was checked by Tom Izard, who rose and bowed to 
the new arrivals. 

Rutledge was still considering him with a cold, questioning 
eye, when Moultrie impulsively came forward, holding out 
his hand and uttering a welcome. Then the Governor’ S voice 
came sharp and harsh. 

‘Why are you not in uniform, Captain Izard?’ 

‘Because I am here on a secret mission. I bring you a 
despatch from the Commander-in-Chief. I had the honour to 
be chosen for the service.’ 

Rutledge’s irritation was not appeased. Rather did it in- 
crease. 

‘What papers do you carry?’ 

‘None, sir. Travelling asa civilian, it was best that I should 
not.’ 

‘And you got through the lines, without papers and in those 
clothes?’ It was almost an explosion of wrath. 

Tom laughed freely and shook his head. ‘Let me perish! I 
did not, sir. I was arrested at the outposts, and brought here 
under guard.’ 

‘I see! Hum! That’s better.’ 

Moultrie raised his brows, and looked at Rutledge. ‘What 

else should you have supposed?’ he asked. 
_ ‘What I am justified in supposing,’ snapped the Governor. 
He was far from mollified, as was to have been expected. 
“You bring a despatch,’ he resumed. ‘Where was the need 
to send a despatch at such a time? [If it had fallen into Brit- 
ish hands...’ He shrugged ill-humouredly. 

Tom drew himself up, and spoke with chill dignity, un- 
ceremoniously interrupting. 

“There could at no time have been any danger of that, your 
excellency. I had my orders.’ 

“Yes, yes.’ Rutledge seemed to sneer. Possibly his old 
mistrust of Izard on the score of his connection with Lord 
William Campbell was an added irritant, although all reason 


282 THE CAROLINIAN 


for such mistrust had long since been removed. ‘The des- 
patch?’ And he held out his hand. _ 

Captain Izard turned down one of the gauntlet-like cuffs of 
his coat, cuffs that were normally stiffened with buckram, and 
proffered his arm to the Governor. ‘If your excellency will 
slice through the stiffening, the letter will pass straight from 
my hands to yours, as I undertook that it should.’ 

Rutledge stared a moment. Then, some of the gloom pass- 
ing from his face, he took a knife from the table, and did as he 
was invited. The letter was found to replace half the buckram 
which had been sliced away. 

‘You think the British would not have found it? Well, well, 
perhaps not. A British general wouldn’t. I am sure of that. 
But Id be less confident in the case of an officer of humbler 
rank.’ 

He stalked away to the window with the letter, which was 
bound in silk and very lightly sealed. He spread and read it, 
standing there aloof, his face expressionless. Then he asked for 
a taper, which Latimer supplied him, and in the flame of it he 
consumed the sheet utterly, dropping the ashes on the hearth. 

Izard was amazed that he should thus destroy a communi- 
cation presumably of military import without so much as 
showing it to the military commander of the place who was 
there in the same room. But he kept the thought to himself. 

They sat down to supper. Throughout the meal, Rutledge 
was wrapped in thought, and his moodiness sat like a thunder- 
cloud upon the company, and even stilled the normal garrulity 
of Tom Izard. 

When the Governor rose at last to take his departure, which 
was soon after the meal had been brought to an end, he de- 
sired a word apart with Moultrie and Latimer before leaving. 

Moultrie would have ushered him into the office which he 
had established on the ground floor front for the despatch of 
military business. But Rutledge stayed him. 

‘No, no,’ he said curtly. ‘I desire only a word with Major 


RUTLEDGE’S NERVES 283 


Latimer — a word of advice.’ And he turned gravely to con- 
front Harry. He lowered his voice. ‘You would do well, sir, 
for the present, while this situation lasts, to discourage Mrs. 
Latimer’s visits to her father.’ 

The Major stiffened, whilst even Moultrie made an ejacu- 
lation of impatience. Then Latimer controlled himself to ask 
quite steadily: 

‘Will your excellency tell me plainly what you mean?’ 

‘T have told you, sir. If you want more you’ll find it in the 
reflection that your father-in-law’s sympathies are notoriously 
what they are, and that his house is a meeting-place for all 
manner of men whom I mistrust.’ 

Moultrie intervened. ‘Since you are apprehensive in that 
quarter...’ 

‘I am not apprehensive,’ Rutledge’s denial was so testy as 
to make it quite clear that he was what he said he wasn’t. 

‘Well, then, since you feel as you do, why don’t you take a 
straight, simple course, and have Carey locked up until our 
present troubles are over?’ 

Rutledge’s brooding eyes pondered him almost scornfully. 

‘Simple courses are for simple men. And I am not simple, 
William, as I mean to show.’ Abruptly he turned again to 
Latimer, who was frowning and breathing rather hard. ‘Once 
before, Major Latimer, you and I disagreed on the subject of 
a channel through which information was leaking to the oppo- 
site side. Your obstinacy then prevailed against my calmer 
and riper judgment. If that should happen again now, it will 
be very unfortunate for everybody; but most unfortunate for 
you.’ 

‘And now I think you threaten me, sir,’ said Harry, his 
bristles rising further. 

‘Tchah! Tchah! Threaten!’ Rutledge’s contempt was 
withering. ‘This is not a time for airs and graces.’ 

‘Certainly not for graces. Your excellency makes that 
plain.’ 


284 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘T’ll make something else plain; so that hereafter there may 
be nothing to excuse you. You shall not be able to say that I 
have withheld light from your mind. I told you four years 
ago, when Featherstone was sacrificed to your vainglory, that 
there is a better use for spies than to hang them or tar and 
feather them. They are ready channels through which false 
information may be conveyed to an enemy to his undoing. 
That is why I do not arrest Carey. He may prove just such a 
channel should I require it. If I do, God help him. He shall 
serve my purposes and betray his own active treachery at 
one and the same time. You understand? But in the mean- 
time I must see that no grain of useful information should 
reach him. That is why I admonish you where your wife is 
concerned.’ 

‘I would have your oD understand that I resent the 
admonition.’ 

‘Resent it all you please. But observe it.’ 

‘And that,’ Latimer continued coldly, ‘when our present 
engagements are over, and your excellency is of less moment 
to the State, I shall have the honour to ask for satisfaction.’ 

Rutledge looked at him a moment in silence with an eye of 
dull contempt. ‘Sir’ — he answered, and now he was more 
like his normal emotionless self — ‘we may leave the future 
until it comes. My affair is with the present. In the present I 
am the servant of the State, and I have no thought or purpose 
that does not concern the State. If you think otherwise, why, 
sir, you are a fool, and there’s an end on’t.’ 

Latimer hung his head in shame under that just rebuke. 
But Moultrie went to the rescue. 

‘We all know that, John; Harry knows it as well as I do. 
But damme it is possible to serve the State without insult to 
its citizens.’ 

Rutledge gave him his hard, cold eyes a moment. ‘Et tu, 
Brute!’ he said. Then he laughed shortly, turned on his heel, 
and stalked out of the house. 


CHAPTER VIII 
THE SPY 


ARLY on the following morning, the vanguard of 

Prevost’s army, composed of some companies of Scots 
Highlanders and Hessians, and numbering somewhere about 
eight hundred, crossed the Ashley, and advanced upon the 
town, under the command of Colonel Prevost, the General’s 
brother. The General himself remained for the present in 
camp, on the south bank of the river with the main army and 
the heavy baggage. 

Within the lines, Count Pulaski, who had ridden over from 
Hadrell’s Point, paraded his legion, and, having wrung con- 
sent from the Governor, rode out in a gallantly chivalrous 
but futile sortie from which he was speedily whipped back 
with shattered forces. The British pursued him to within a 
mile of the lines. There the Charles Town artillery, which 
covered his retreat, checked the advancing enemy, who halted 
and sat down out of range, but well within the view of the 
defenders manning the trenches. 

In the town behind them there was excitement and anxiety, 
but no panic, for the people had Moultrie’s assurance that 
he was in sufficient strength to hold the place, and that the 
British should not enter. 

It was a faith not shared by all. That afternoon a gaunt, 
keen-eyed man whose faded uniform bore the epaulettes and 
badges of a colonel, came riding along the lines up to the abatis 
by the town gate. Here were assembled Moultrie and a group 
of officers including Latimer, in consultation with the 
Governor. 

Rutledge looked round at the man’s approach. It was 
Colonel Senf, the State’s engineer. 


286 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Well?’ Rutledge asked him. ‘What do you report?’ 

The Colonel shook his head. ‘We are very weak,’ he 
answered. ‘Here on our left the lines are not above four feet 
thick, and the parapets are still far from completed.’ 

‘But work hasn’t ceased?’ quoth Rutledge on a rising 
inflection. 

‘No. You can see them toiling yonder.’ And he pointed to 
a distant group of labourers actively wielding spade and 
mattock. ‘But the attack may come at any moment now, and 
in what case are we to withstand it?’ 

It was Moultrie who span round, leaning heavily upon his 
cane, to answer him briskly. 

‘In better case than we were in Fort Sullivan. That was 
pronounced a slaughter-pen by General Lee —a soldier of 
great experience. It proved a slaughter-pen, indeed: for those 
who attacked it. We don’t depend upon a few feet of earth, 
Colonel. We’ve better than that to show these gentlemen 
when they ask our leave to enter the town.’ He turned again, 
pointing with his cane. ‘I think they suspect it. For you 
observe they are in no haste to taste our hospitality.’ 

There was some laughing comment from the group, in 
which, however, Rutledge did not join. Aloof, glum of coun- 
tenance, he stood, chin in hand, looking out towards the dis- 
tant movement of men and the cloud of dust hanging above 
and about them in the sunlight. 

‘That is because they are not yet in sufficient force,’ he 
answered. He sighed. ‘If only it lay in our power to delay 
the crossing of the main army for twenty-four hours!’ Al- 
most as if thinking aloud, though Heaven knows that was 
far from being a habit with him: ‘Twenty-four hours!’ he 
repeated. 

But Moultrie belittled the importance of the time. ‘Pooh! 
We are as ready for them now as we shall be to-morrow.’ 

‘Are we?’ Rutledge turned slowly to look at him. ‘I 
pray they may continue to think so. That they do think so 


THE SPY 287 


now is plain. For if they had definite knowledge of our num- 
bers, they would not be delaying the attack.’ 

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped down from the 
abatis, and walked to his horse, which was being held for 
him by a groom. Moultrie and Latimer followed. At the 
moment of mounting, Rutledge turned again. 

‘Above all,’ he said, ‘see that a sharp lookout is kept along 
the lines, and that no one is allowed to pass out upon any pre- 
text.’ The vehemence of his insistence was remarkable. 

‘But, of course,’ Moultrie answered. ‘It is being done. Also 
I have posted sentries along the waterfront.’ 

‘And let no military movement be undertaken without first 
consulting me,’ was Rutledge’s last order as he rode away. 

Moultrie was left frowning over that. He smiled crookedly 
as presently he looked at Harry. 

‘There’s a despot for you!’ 

Harry did not smile back. He was warmed by indignation. 

‘Sometimes I ask myself who is the commander here,’ he 
answered. 

‘Sh!’ Moultrie checked him. ‘Let be. He is acting upon 
some secret plan of his own.’ 

‘A secret from the general commanding!’ exclaimed Lati- 
mer, and laughed. ‘I marvel you endure It.’ 

‘That is because I trust him, absolutely. He is patriotic, 
stout-hearted, and stout-headed. I am not sure that, myself, 
I possess all those qualities in the same degree. It’s only fools, 
Harry, who don’t know their limitations.’ 

They mounted and rode back into town together, down 
Broad Street, through the wide gateway, at which sentries 
were now posted, into the garden space about Moultrie’s resi- 
dence. The place wore now an aspect conforming more than 
ever with its temporary character of general headquarters. 
There was a guard before the door, and a couple of order- 
lies were on duty in the hall. In addition to the room which 
served as Moultrie’s office, the library had been more or less 


288 THE CAROLINIAN 


cleared of superfluous furniture and was now also devoted to 
the business of war. 

As a consequence, and excepting the dining-room, which 
had been left at their disposal, Myrtle and the boy were now 
confined to the upper part of the house. 

Harry would have gone in quest of them at once. But in 
the hall he found, in addition to the orderlies, two militiamen 
with a prisoner who had been brought in a few minutes before 
their arrival. 

‘We took him, sir, between the old Magazine and Lover’s 
Walk. He was making his way towards the lines, and taking 
great care not to be seen.’ 

Moultrie looked the fellow over with that ha small eye 
of his. He was a shabby, weedy young man in the garb of an 
artisan, and fright had reduced his countenance to the colour 
of clay. 

Now Moultrie had not been out of his clothes for thirty 
hours, and, with the prospect of another night in the lines, he 
was intent upon snatching what rest he could while oppor- 
tunity served. It was a duty not only to himself, but to the 
State. So he left the fellow to Latimer, and went off upstairs. 

With a sigh of weariness and of disgust at the task before 
him, Latimer turned to the door of the ante-chamber which 
now did duty as a guard-room. 

‘Fetch him along,’ he bade the guards. 

They followed him with their prisoner across the guard- 
room, where at that moment Lieutenant Middleton was ex- 
plaining to a disgruntled shipmaster the temporary harbour 
regulations with which he was desired to conform. Thence 
they passed into the quiet of the inner office. It was a spa-_ 
cious, bare room, well lighted by two windows in one of the 
walls, and by two glass doors in another, opening upon the 
garden, where all now was sunshine and fragrance. 

Major Latimer crossed to the large, square table of plain 
oak, set sideways to one of these glass doors, which was closed 


THE SPY 289 


and bolted. The table was equipped with writing-materials, 
and littered with papers, whilst a fragment of lead served to 
pin down a large map which trailed like a table-cover over 
one of the corners. 

The Major flung his hat on the table, pulled the wooden 
armchair half round, and sat down so that his elbow was on 
the board. The men brought their captive to a halt immedi- 
ately before him. 

‘Have you searched him?’ he began. 

One of the guards stepped forward and placed various ob- 
jects on the table. They included a kerchief, a knife, a tinder- 
box, a purse, and a pistol. 

Latimer picked up the purse. Out of it on the table he 
emptied eleven English guineas, in themselves enough to 
condemn so shabby a rogue as this. 

‘Gold, eh?’ said Latimer. ‘What’s your name, my man?’ 

The pallid lips parted, and the fellow’s voice came in a 
croak of apprehension. 

‘Jeremiah Quinn, your honour. I swear to Heaven I 
have:.'..’ 

‘Yes, yes. But wait. Just answer my questions. What is 
your trade?’ 

‘I’m a carpenter, sir.’ 

‘Where do you usually work?’ 

‘Here in Charles Town, your honour. I’ve a shop in Middle 
Lane.’ 

‘How long have you been here?’ 

‘All my life, sir. I were born in Charles Town, as plenty 
folk can swear to your honour. My brother was gard’ner to 
Colonel Gadsden, and...’ 

‘Not so fast. One thing at a time. Tell me now: What was 
taking you to the lines?’ 

The answer was delayed by a tap on the door, followed by 
the entrance of Lieutenant Middleton. 

‘His excellency the Governor is here, sir,’ he announced, 


290 THE CAROLINIAN 


and before the announcement was quite uttered, Rutledge had 
unceremoniously brushed past him into the room. 

Latimer rose. The lieutenant disappeared, closing the door, 

Rutledge’s harassed eyes conned the spy an instant ma- 
levolently. 

‘I was told of this arrest,’ he informed Latimer without look- 
ing at him. ‘But you are examining him. Please continue.’ 

He dragged a chair over to the glass door, a little beyond 
Latimer, and sat down with his back to the light. 

The Major also sat down again, marvelling that at such a 
time a man in the position of the Governor should be con- 
cerned with the examination of a wretched spy. 

He resumed his questions. 

‘I was asking you what was taking you to the lines.’ 

The prisoner moistened his dry lips. His terror appeared to 
increase now under the cold eye, in the Governor’s pale, in- 
scrutable face, that was so unwinkingly fixed upon him. 

‘I...I was seeking to get out o’ the town.’ 

‘So much we perceive. But with what intent? Why did 
you want to leave the town?’ 

‘For fear o’ the British, of what they’ll do to us when they 
come in. They’re terrible cruel.’ 

‘So that fear of the British was leading you straight to- 
wards their camp?’ 

‘I weren’t going to their camp. I swear before God I 
weren’t. I wanted to get out into the country, where a man 
may lie hid until this fightin’ be o’er.’ 

‘I see. You represent yourself as just a coward. Are you 
married?’ 

‘No, sir. Widower. No children. I’m all alone with nobody 
to care for me. So what for should I stay to be murdered?’ 

‘Where did you get this gold — this English gold?’ 

‘They’re my savings, your honour; my savings from better 
days. All I have in the world. ’Tweren’t natural I should 
leave it behind. ’Iwas all I was taking with me.’ 


See. ee a 


THE SPY 291 


‘That’s to be ascertained,’ said Latimer, and turned again 
to the objects on the table. 

He picked up the handkerchief, and held it up to the light, 
scanning it closely, and running his fingers along the hem. 
Satisfied that it was entirely innocent, he turned his attention 
to the knife. 

Watching him, the prisoner’s face grew leaden, his eyes al- 
most glazed. He looked like swooning when a sudden ques- 
tion from Rutledge roused him. 

‘Whom do you know in Tradd Street?’ 

The question startled not only Quinn, but Latimer as well. 
Yet neither of them betrayed it. Latimer continued ap- 
parently engrossed in his task, but his ears were intent upon 
the reply. 

‘Nobody, your honour.’ 

‘You don’t know a Quaker named Neild?’ 

Latimer was relieved. Considering that Carey dwelt in 
Tradd Street, he had expected a very different question. The 
prisoner hesitated a moment. 

‘Neild, your honour?’ he echoed. He was playing for time 
to collect his wits and consider his answer. Yet in the very 
endeavour blundered upon that answer: ‘Will it be Master 
Jonathan Neild?’ 

‘I see that you do know him. He’s lodged in Tradd Street, 
isn’t he?’ The prisoner nodded. ‘Then why say you know 
nobody in Tradd Street?’ And without giving him time to 
answer, he passed to the next question: ‘What is your busi- 
ness with him?’ 

‘He engaged me, your honour, to make some boxes for him, 
for shipping his tobacco. I’m a carpenter, your honour, as 
I’ve told the Major.’ 

‘When did he so engage you?’ 

‘Two days ago. Day before yesterday.’ 

‘Did you take him the boxes when you went to see him 
to-day?’ 


292 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘No, your honour. I went to tell him I shouldn’t be able to 
make them, as I was leaving Charles Town.’ 

‘Why did you tell him something it was against your inter- 
ests to make known? Something that must have procured 
your detention here?’ 

The prisoner was startled. Grimy fingers fumbled ner- 
vously at a grimy neckcloth, fora moment. ‘I...I didn’t 
think of it.’ 

“What did Neild answer you?’ 

‘Nothin’ much, sir. Said as he were sorry. That he must 
find another carpenter.’ 

‘He didn’t say he would lay information of your intentions 
to leave a town from which none is permitted to depart at 
present?’ 

‘No. He said nothin’ more nor I’ve told your honour.’ 

The Governor turned to Latimer. ‘If you’ve followed my 
questions, and this man’s answers, I think you'll see we’ve 
every reason to detain him.’ 

‘I had already seen that, your excellency,’ Latimer an- 
swered. He had finished with all the other objects from 
Quinn’s pockets, and was now examining the last of them, the 
pistol. He lifted the cock and opened the pan. There was no 
priming. ‘Whilst you were putting a pistol in your pocket 
against emergencies, why didn’t you take the trouble to load 
it?’ he asked. 

Quinn’s lips parted, but it was some seconds before he re- 
plied. A sort of paralysis seemed suddenly to have overtaken 
him. At last his answer came: 

‘Das 1... had no powder.’ 

Latimer looked at him, and slowly nodded, as if satisfied 
with the answer. Then he dismounted the pistol’s ramrod, and 
thrust it into the barrel. It went home. The barrel was empty. 
Watching him with terrified eyes, Quinn saw him turn the 
ramrod in such a manner that the end of it must scrape 

against the inner side of the barrel. Suddenly Latimer looked 


THE SPY 293 


at the prisoner, pausing in his probing. Then he removed the 
ramrod, pulled open the table’s drawer, searched there a 
moment and found a probe, long and slender as a knitting- 
needle. 

Rutledge came to stand over him whilst he was at work 
with this. A musket crashed to the ground, and there was a 
sharp movement of feet from the group of guards and pris- 
oner. Turning, startled by the noise, Latimer and Rutledge 
beheld Quinn’s body sagging loosely as an empty sack in the 
arms of the soldiers. He had fainted. 

‘Poor devil!’ said Latimer, who guessed readily enough the 
panic which had laid him low. 

‘Come, come,’ rasped Rutledge impatiently. For the 
Major had interrupted his work. 

As the soldiers eased that inert body to the ground, Lati- 
mer’s probe brought a cylinder of fine paper from the inside 
of the barrel. He spread the little sheet on the table. Rut- 
ledge leaned heavily upon his shoulder as he lowered his head 
to read it with him. But the message was in cipher. 

‘No matter,’ Rutledge grumbled. ‘It’s enough. Give it to 
me. I'll have it deciphered presently.’ 

This was, of course, irregular. But the despotic Rutledge, 
invested as he was with more than sovereign powers, was fast 
becoming a law unto himself. Latimer surrendered the docu- 
ment, and the Governor pocketed it. 

He turned to the guards. ‘Take him away,’ he curtly or- 
dered. ‘Let him be closely confined under guard until we take 
order about him.’ 

He paced the room, hands folded behind him until it was 
done, and for some moments afterwards. Latimer, worn and 
weary, and even a little stricken at the thought of the fate 
awaiting that wretched spy whom his own wits had tracked to 
his death, sat waiting for the Governor to depart. 

Rutledge came presently to halt before the table. ‘That 
was shrewd of you, Major Latimer,’ he said without warmth, 


204 THE CAROLINIAN 


and Latimer well knew to what he alluded. ‘But don’t 
imagine that we have caught the real British agent.’ 

‘I don’t,’ said Latimer. ‘There remains here the writer of © 
that letter.’ 

Rutledge nodded. ‘That is the man we want. You don’t 
suspect his identity, I suppose?’ 

Latimer looked at him without answering. For the second 
time in the half-hour he imagined that he was to hear his 
father-in-law’s name. But again he was mistaken. 

‘Neild,’ said Rutledge. ‘This Quaker, this tobacco-planter. 
That is the man I suspect.’ 

Again, as when first the name had been mentioned, Lati- 
mer sought to remember where he had last heard it. Sud- 
denly he succeeded. 

Rutledge meanwhile was continuing: 

‘He has suddenly appeared here again three days ago; the 
day before the British reached the Ashley. It’s vastly coin- 
cident. And the very fact that he lodges with Carey, on the 
pretence of trading with him, is in itself suspicious.’ 

‘Shall I order his arrest, sir?’ 

‘Hum!’ Rutledge considered, stroking his long chin, which 
from its loss of fullness seemed to have grown longer. ‘If he is 
what I suspect him to be, you’ll not find him as easy to un- 
mask as that poor wretch who was here just now.’ 

‘Don’t you think, sir, that if this Neild had anything to 
hide, he would choose some other lodging than Carey’s? That 
is to draw suspicion and attention at once, considering what is 
known of Sir Andrew’s sentiments. Surely, sir, no spy would 
wish to do that.’ 

‘A shrewd, bold man might count upon our arguing just as 
you are arguing. Would draw suspicion flagrantly upon him- 
self that thereby he might disarm it. But it would need a bold 
man; avery bold man. And to trap such a man one should 
proceed with cunning. So you had better not yet order his 
arrest.’ 


THE SPY 295 


‘I could have him watched.’ 

‘Yes. Wait.’ He paced away again, and back to the table 
once more. ‘The thing would be to examine him so that he 
does not suspect that he is being examined. But how are we 
to accomplish that?’ 

‘He’s a tobacco-planter, you say?’ 

Rutledge nodded. 

Latimer considered still a moment. ‘I might send for him 
on the pretext of desiring to buy tobacco.’ 

‘You might. And he would know exactly what you meant. 
You’ve other things to think of at the moment; and he knows 
it as well as we do.’ 

‘Once here, I might disarm his suspicions.’ 

‘How?’ The word was nothing, the tone everything in its 
implied contempt. 

‘IT should have to depend on my wit for that,’ said Latimer, 
piqued by the other’s question. ‘If you bid me do it, I will 
see what I can accomplish.’ 

‘It’s that, or nothing, I suppose,’ said Rutledge. ‘Very 
well.’ 

He stalked away to the door, his head bent in thought, and 
went out. A moment later, he was back again. 

‘Major Latimer, whether you unmask him or not, after 
you have examined him, you’d better have him detained.’ 

‘Even if I am satisfied that there is nothing against him?’ 

‘In any case. I'll take no risks of having messages sent to 
Prevost just at present. No risks at all.’ 


CHAPTER IX 
THE LIE CONFIRMED 


N orderly left a message at Tradd Street a couple of 

hours later, desiring that Mr. Jonathan Neild should 

give himself the trouble of calling upon Major Latimer at 

General Moultrie’s headquarters. Mr. Neild, the orderly was 

informed by Sir Andrew’s butler, was not then at home. But 
upon his return the message should promptly be delivered. 

His return must have taken place soon thereafter, for in 
less than an hour you behold Mr. Neild stepping into the hall 
of Moultrie’s house on Broad Street, and announcing, in a 
nasal whine, but with all the calm of an untroubled mind, 
that he was there by the Major’s invitation. 

Lieutenant Middleton, who had received his instructions, 
put him in the library to wait, and stationed a guard unob- 
trusively in the garden under the library windows. This may 
seem supererogative precaution. Considering that the man 
had come of his own free will, it was hardly to be imagined 
that he would now attempt to run away. But the lieutenant 
understood that no risks were to be taken, and that the bird 
being safely caged, however willingly, it would be as well to 
make quite sure that the door of the cage was shut. 

That done, young Middleton went upstairs to inform Lati- 
mer. But he was confronted by Myrtle, who checked him 
just as he was about to rap upon her husband’s door. 

‘What is it, Mr. Middleton? Is it very urgent?’ 

She asked the question anxiously, yet on a muffled note. 
Clearly she desired not to disturb the sleepers. Influenced by 
this, Middleton tiptoed towards her, away, not only from the 
door of Latimer’s room, but also from the door of the General’s 
which was near it. She beckoned him down to the half- 


THE LIE CONFIRMED 297 


landing, and there by the tall window that looked upon the 
wider space of garden at the back, where they could allow 
their voices liberty, she informed him that her husband was 
asleep, worn out, and begged that the lieutenant’s message, 
unless very pressing, should be delayed for an hour or two. 

‘He will be in the lines again all night, sir, as you know,’ 
she ended. 

Middleton was perplexed. ‘I scarce know what to do. 
There is a Mr. Neild here...’ 

‘Who?’ She interrupted him so sharply as to startle him. 

‘Mr. Neild,’ he repeated. ‘A Quaker tobacco-planter.’ 

At first he thought that her face looked scared. But in the 
next moment he imagined that this must have been due toa 
trick of the light. Her voice, when now she questioned him, 
was composed and level. 

‘But what does Mr. Neild want with my husband?’ 

She spoke of this Neild as of some one known to her, 
which seemed nowise odd to Middleton, considering that the 
Quaker was lodged and traded with her father. It was pos- 
sible that she had made his acquaintance in the course of one 
of her visits to Tradd Street. Therefore, Middleton experi- 
enced a certain hesitancy in telling her what was the exact 
position. 

‘Possibly to sell tobacco,’ he evaded. 

‘Oh, but in that case...’ She paused, and then on a fresh 
resolve she added: ‘I will go and tell him that Major Latimer 
is not to be disturbed at present.’ 

Already she was descending the stairs, and Middleton was 
in a quandary. How far was he right in permitting Mrs. 
Latimer to see a man who was virtually a prisoner? 

He went after her. ‘No, no, Mrs. Latimer. It is not neces- 
sary. Mr. Neild can wait.’ 

‘But he may have to wait an hour or two. A discourtesy.’ 
‘Pray do not give yourself the trouble, madam. I will tell 
him.’ 


208 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘But I should like to explain the circumstance. I know Mr. 
Neild, and I should be glad of a word with him. I haven’t seen 
my father for a day or two, and he may give me news of him.’ 

Thus, ever increasing the young officer’s perplexities, she 
moved on into the hall, Middleton following. His military in- 
stincts told him this was wrong. On the other hand, Mrs. 
Latimer was the wife of his superior officer, of the General’s 
chief aide. What harm could follow from her being allowed to 
speak to Neild, who, after all, might be innocent enough of all 
evil intentions? 

‘Where is Mr. Neild?’ she asked. 

‘In the library, madam. But...’ 

She waited for no more, but walked straight into the library 
and closed the door. Having closed it, she leaned against it 
for a moment in prey to the emotion she had so spiritedly sup- 
pressed. 

The tall, brown-clad figure of Mr. Neild, exactly as she had 
last seen him, was standing by one of the windows, looking 
out upon the garden. He continued thus a moment after the 
sounds of the opening and closing of the door had reached 
him. Then, very leisurely in his movements, a man com- 
pletely at his ease, and neither afraid nor to be frightened, he 
turned to see who had entered, presenting that singular coun- 
tenance with its heavy beard and lack of eyebrows that was 
so unlike the face of Captain Mandeville. Upon beholding 
her, he took a sharp step forward, and the gasp by which it 
was accompanied was audible across the room. Then he re- 
covered, and bowed, master of himself, and resuming the 
part he played. 

Myrtle, too, commanded herself once more. She went for- 
ward, outwardly self-possessed. But the voice in which she 
spoke came harsh and strained. 

‘What do you want here?’ 

For a long moment his piercing eyes considered her. Then, 
as if the scrutiny had answered some question in his mind, he 


THE LIE CONFIRMED 299 


spoke, in the nasal voice of Neild and in the submissive atti- 
tude his réle demanded. 

‘Madam, I trust I do not incommode thee. I was bidden to 
wait here for Major Latimer.’ 

She uttered a cry of impatience, of anger. 

‘Oh! Are we to play this comedy again? What of your word 
to me, your word of honour that, if I kept silence and allowed 
you to depart, you would never return to Charles Town or 
hold communication with my father while the war lasted? 
You lied to me in that, and you have lied to me in all else. It 
was a pretence that you came here then solely out of concern 
for my father who was ill. You were what I supposed you. 
Your return proves it. A spy. And you have made me your 
accomplice. The accomplice of a spy!’ 

‘Myrtle! For God’s sake!’ He spoke in his natural voice at 
last. 

But she went wrathfully on. ‘And my father has connived 
in all this, without regard for my honour, or my feelings.’ 

He bowed his head a little. ‘Your father is a loyal subject 
of the King,’ he answered softly. 

‘But loyal to nothing else, to no one else.’ She had reached 
a chair, and she sat down rather helplessly. ‘Oh, God! How 
you have used me between you! Poor fool! Poor fool! I see it 
now. That is what I have been!’ 

He approached her; and set his hands — stained brown 
like his face — upon the back of her chair. A moment he hesi- 
tated, then he touched her shoulder gently. She shrank, 
shuddering under his touch, in a disgust that was not to be 
mistaken, and instantly rose again, to confront him. 

‘Why have you carried audacity so far as to come here — 
to this house! What do you seek?’ 

Again she was subjected to that curious scrutiny before he 
answered her; and his answer took the form of a question. 

‘Have you no knowledge of why Iam here? Is it by no con- 
triving of your own?’ 


300 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘My contriving? Are you mad?’ 

‘Have you said nothing to your husband of the true identity 
of Jonathan Neild?’ 

‘I?’ She was amazed. ‘I would to God I had!’ 

‘Are you sure that no unconscious word of yours...’ 

‘Oh, I am sure. Sure!’ Indignation and impatience were 
blent in the assertion. ‘Once, indeed, I lied; I was forced to 
lie, to General Moultrie in my husband’s presence. He asked 
me if I had ever met you — met Neild, that is — at my fa- 
ther’s house, and, whilst I admitted that I had, I pretended no 
suspicion of your true identity. Oh!’ She clenched her hands 
in shame and anger. ‘And you have the effrontery to come 
here, to...’ 

‘The effrontery!’ he interrupted, and uttered a little laugh. 
‘That was not the driving force, I assure you. I come because 
Iam bidden to come. It is not an invitation that I dare refuse. 
And if I did, compulsion would have been employed to bring 
me.’ 

‘By whom?’ she asked breathlessly. 

‘By your husband. The invitation was from him. I 
imagined ... But no matter what I imagined. If you will look 
from that window you will see the reality. A sentry is pacing 
there with bayonet fixed, to make sure that I do not escape 
that way. It is very plain that I am suspected of being some- 
thing other than a tobacco-planter. But I am reassured since 
you tell me that you have not denounced me. For I know of 
no other evidence against me, and I think I can trust myself 
to play my part.’ 

“To play your part?’ 

‘The Quaker Neild.’ 

She laughed quite mirthlessly. ‘And you think you will be 
allowed to play it? You think that now that you have violated 
your word to me, I shall continue to hold my tongue? That I 
shall continue this lie to my husband?’ 

‘What else?’ 


THE LIE CONFIRMED 301 


‘What else?’ she echoed. 

“Yes. What else? Dare you denounte me now? Dare you? 
Don’t you see that in doing so you will denounce yourself? 
That you will be proclaiming yourself my accomplice.’ Very 
quietly he made his meaning plain. ‘You have already ad- 
mitted, you say, that you met Neild at your father’s house. 
Will your husband and the others — for others will be con- 
cerned in this — believe that you did not recognize me then? 
What inference will they draw from your silence? What is to 
be thought of your constant visits to your father since? Your 
father’s loyalty is a little too well known. Myrtle, my dear, 
think well of what you do, before you destroy us both to no 
purpose. For you will certainly destroy yourself with me, and 
perhaps drag your husband down as well in the general ruin. 
And what shall you have gained? If no other considerations 
weigh with you, at least do not disregard these. Ponder them 
well before you take a step so terrible to yourself.’ 

‘God of Heaven!’ she burst out passionately. She fronted 
him, white and fierce. ‘You have me in a trap!’ 

His shrug and his melancholy little smile deprecated the 
description. ‘My dear!’ 

‘That is the evil you return for the good I did. That is how 
you repay me for having kept silence and spared your life.’ 

‘I thought,’ he ventured to remind her, ‘that you did that 
in discharge of an old debt between us; that you realized it 
was the least you owed to me. Are you quite sure that you 
have paid the debt in full?’ 

‘Quite. As sure as that I will enmesh myself in no further 
lies.’ 

‘It is not necessary,’ he said quietly. ‘You are already so 
enmeshed that escape is impossible either for you or for your 
husband.’ 

‘For my husband? You’re mad, I think!’ 

‘Am I? Consider a moment. If I am arrested, your own 
arrest will follow.’ 


202 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Why? Will you denounce me in your turn?’ 

‘In denouncing mé, you will have denounced yourself. 
Keep that in mind. You will be asked to explain how long you 
have known this identity which you now betray. I shall be 
asked the same. Can you expect mercy if you show me none?’ 

For a long moment amazement left her dumb. Then she 
broke into speech, hot and passionate: ‘Oh, you are vile! Vile! 
I think I begin to know you. Harry was right about you from 
the first, and I would never listen to him. I have been under a 
delusion that you were noble, chivalrous, generous. Poor fool, 
again! Poor fool!’ 

She saw him wince, perceived the sudden quiver of his lip, 
saw him turn white under the stain on his cheeks. But he 
mastered himself. 

‘I am,’ he said firmly, even with a certain dignity, ‘a man 
fighting for life. If I lose my life through your agency, Myrtle, 
I shall sting your husband to death before I face a firing-party, 
and since I cannot reach him, save through you, I shall have 
to drag you with me. That is the price you will have to pay if 
you persist in being merciless. Spare me; say no word of what 
you know, and if the worst befalls me, I vow to God that 
I will hold my peace in my turn, and go to my death without 
a word to hurt you or Latimer. Those are my terms.’ 

She collected her scattered wits to answer him. ‘Me you 
can hurt, I know. But how can you hurt him? You can’t! 
You can’t! You say this to frighten me. You coward!’ 

‘Ah, wait! Consider further. If you are charged with 
complicity, what do you think must follow? It will be assumed 
that this complicity is a very full one. You have been freely 
visiting your father. I, at your father’s, have been collecting, 
and despatching to the British information that is of use to 
them. Whence have I derived this information? From you, 
of course. That will be the clear assumption. And whence 
have you in your turn derived it? Whence could you derive it 
but from your husband?’ 


THE LIE CONFIRMED 303 


‘Do you think any man will believe that Harry Latimer 
consciously betrayed anything that would help the enemy?’ 

‘No. But so much is not necessary. He may have been — 
he must have been — indiscreet. And in war indiscretion is a 
capital offence; and its consequences as serious as conscious 
betrayal.’ 

It was a disarming stroke. It left her limp and cowed. And 
when she rallied, it was only weakly to upbraid him. 

‘I am repaid for setting my trust in your word!’ 

He sighed, and turned away. ‘It is my fate ever to be mis- 
understood by you. I have served you with a devotion such as 
I have paid no other man or woman living. I saved your 
husband’s life, not once, but half a dozen times in the old days 
here; saved it, when his death might have left my way open to 
the thing I desired above all else. And now, at what may be 
the end of the chapter, all I have earned is your contempt. 
God pity me!’ 

It was a crafty appeal. It touched her, despite herself. 
‘You broke your word,’ she repeated, but now almost in self- 
defence. 

For once he betrayed heat. ‘Do you think I do not hate 
myself for that? But what choice had I?’ And bitterly he 
added: ‘You cannot even do me the justice to perceive that I 
am not my own master.’ 

‘You are not the master of your own honour?’ 

‘No.’ His voice rang out full and clear for the first time in 
the course of that interview. Instantly it was muted again as 
the explanation followed. But, although muted, it was still 
fraught with dignity, and his tall figure seemed to grow taller 
as he spoke. ‘My honour is my country’s. She disposes of it. 
Had I kept faith with you, I must have broken faith with 
England. I was ordered to return to Charles Town. I have 
obeyed. That is all. For the rest, I have said that I am fight- 
ing for my life. So I am, that I may continue to devote this 
life to the service of my country. It is all that is left me to 


304 THE CAROLINIAN 


serve.’ And very softly and sadly he added: ‘You made it so 
when you married Latimer.’ 

To the distraction with which his earlier pleas had afflicted 
her mind he added now by this touching apologia. Undecided 
she stood before him, whilst, deeming no doubt that he had 
said enough, he awaited with bowed head the decision which 
it was now hers to make. 

And then, suddenly, both became conscious of a brisk step 
approaching the door, a step which she knew for her husband’s, 
and which converted her distraction into panic. Asin a dream 
she heard the nasal voice of the Quaker, Jonathan Neild, and 
yet the make-believe sentences he uttered were to remain 
graven on her memory when she could no longer recall the 
words in which he had said things of vital import. As he 
began to speak, he circled quickly and silently, so that his 
back should be turned to the door, and he should not directly 
see it open. 

‘And so, madam, thou’lt understand that I am anxious to 
be returning home to my plantation, and I am vastly exercised 
by all this godlessness hereabout which may have the effect of 
delaying me on my travels.’ 

The door had opened, and Latimer stood under the lintel, 
at gaze, but without surprise; for Middleton, uneasy under 
the responsibility thrust upon him by Mrs. Latimer’s action, 
had gone at last to rouse him and inform him of the situation. 

Myrtle, controlling herself by an effort, directly faced him. 
Her companion, full conscious now of his presence, yet able by 
virtue of the position he had taken up to feign not to perceive 
it, droned steadily on, without having made the least per- 
ceptible halt. 

‘At this season of the year the young plants, as tender and 
delicate as new-born children, require all a planter’s care. Al- 
though I have done a good trade with friend Carey, yet, had I 
known how I should be delayed, I would not have made this 
last journey. I should be on my plantation now to take 


THE LIE CONFIRMED 305 


advantage of the first warm rains for the transplanting, or I 
may yet pay for the trade I have done by the loss of a whole 
season’s crop. I tell thee, madam...’ 

He half-turned as he spoke. Out of the corner of his eye he 
permitted himself to catch sight of the open door. Abruptly 
he checked, and turned completely, so as to face the man who 
stood there. He waited a moment, then — 

‘Friend,’ he said, and bowed a little, ‘art thou Major 
Latimer, whom I await?’ 

‘I am,’ said Latimer. He came forward, leaving the door 
wide behind him. He turned to his wife, speaking gently, but 
none the less reprovingly. ‘Myrtle, this was hardly prudent. . .’ 

The Quaker interrupted him. ‘I prithee do not chide the 
lady for having compassionated me, coming hither to beguile 
the tedium of my waiting.’ 

‘Mr. Middleton told me only that Mr. Neild was here,’ she 
found herself saying. ‘He did not add that you had sent for 
him. So I imagined that perhaps he had brought some 
message for me from my father.’ 

The slight cloud cleared entirely from Latimer’s brow. He 
smiled. 

‘It is no great matter, after all. But you knew that Mr. 
Neild was again in Charles Town?’ 

‘Not...not until Mr. Middleton brought word that he 
was here.’ 

‘Well, well, my dear. I think that you may leave us to- 
gether now.’ 

And he went to hold the door for her. 

Committed thus to the perpetuation of her falsehood, and 
more deeply enmeshed than ever in its tangles, she passed out, 
bearing in her breast a heart of lead. 


CHAPTER X 
CONCERNING TOBACCO 


-/f{ AJOR LATIMER asked his wife no questions because 
he was persuaded that she would know of Neild and 
of Neild’s association with her father no more than was known 
to the world at large. If other association there was, and if 
Neild’s presence in Charles Town had aims other than that of 
trading in tobacco, Myrtle would have been kept as much in 
ignorance of it as he was, himself. Indeed, the very words he 
had overheard the Quaker uttering during those seconds in 
which, as he conceived, Neild had been unconscious of a sec- 
ond listener, confirmed this view. Nevertheless, when all was 
considered, he would have preferred that his wife should not 
have held her interview with the Quaker. Such things touch- 
ing a man under suspicion, if divulged, give rise to thoughts 
and questions from which he must wish to keep his wife aloof. 
He came forward now and past his visitor, deliberately, so 
as to compel the latter to turn. Thus, Neild’s face was brought 
into the full light from the window, and Latimer’s was placed 
in shadow. The Major scanned his visitor’s countenance with 
interest. He found it odd, but was hardly able to explain its 
oddness. It was invested with an air of perpetual surprise 
that was unlike any face that Latimer remembered ever to 
have seen on any man. The beard he considered a loathsome 
affair, but he could not imagine it assumed for purposes of 
disguise, since no beard in this world would have sufficed to 
disguise such a countenance as that. 

Mindful of his instructions, he addressed the Quaker with 
scrupulous courtesy. ‘Iam sorry, Mr. Neild, to put you to the 
inconvenience of visiting me here, and sorry to have detained 
you on your arrival.’ 

‘Nay, friend, nay!’ The other was genial in his dismissal of 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 307 


the apology. ‘The inconvenience is naught. If I can serve thee 
in any way, I prithee command me.’ 

‘Sit down, Mr. Neild... It is Neild, is it not?’ 

‘Jonathan Neild, friend.’ The Quaker took the chair to 
which he was waved, the chair which Myrtle had lately 
occupied, set beside a heavy Louis XV writing-table. Care- 
fully he placed his round hat on the floor, his face composed, 
but wearing ever that look of almost disconcerting astonish- 
ment. 

Latimer drew another chair to the table, and sat down al- 
most opposite. 

“You realize that in these times, sir, it is necessary to guard 
ourselves most scrupulously from enemy agents...’ 

‘What have I, friend, to do with enemy agents, as you call 
them? To me all are alike, all being engaged in war, which is 
an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.’ 

Latimer waited until the pious interruption was at an end, 
then resumed. 

‘The officer who inspected your papers made a satisfactory 
report. But the Governor has ordered a further examination 
of the papers of all strangers at present in Charles Town, in 
consequence of the apprehension this morning of a spy inside 
our lines.’ 

His eyes never left the Quaker’s face, watching for some 
sign of discomposure. But not so much as an eyelid flickered 
in that permanently surprised countenance. Calmly, Neild 
carried his hand to the breastpocket inside his brown coat, 
and produced thence a folded sheet. 

‘Tf it is my pass thou desire to see, friend, why, here it is.’ 
He unfolded the sheet, and proffered it. ‘I make no protest, 
friend,’ he droned on. ‘So long as men commit this wicked- 
ness of war, so long must the innocent suffer, and the righteous 
be tormented.’ 

Latimer laughed as he took the paper. ‘You shall not be 
tormented, sir. That, at least, I can promise.’ 


308 THE CAROLINIAN 


He scanned the pass, which was issued from Washington’s 
camp at Middlebrook. “This is quite in order.’ He folded it 
again, but did not yet return it. ‘How long have you been in 
Charles Town, Mr. Neild?’ 

‘Since Saturday evening, friend. Three days.’ 

‘And before that? When were you here last?’ 

‘Close upon three months ago I was here for a week.’ 

‘Your business being?’ 

‘The sale of tobacco, friend. I am a planter of tobacco.’ 

‘With whom has your business here been conducted?’ 

‘With thy father-in-law, Andrew Carey.’ 

‘And no one else?’ 

‘No one else. Andrew Carey, as thou wilt know, owns 
many ships and does a great trade. He is able to take all the 
tobacco that I grow and all that I can purchase for him from 
other planters at present, his own plantations having been 
perforce neglected as a consequence of the war.’ 

‘His own plantations?’ 

Carey had no tobacco plantations, and the tone of Lati- 
mer’s question all but betrayed the fact. 

Neild made for safe ground at once. 

‘Either his own plantations or the plantations hereabouts 
from which he was in the habit of buying aforetime. I know 
not which for certain.’ 

‘Your acquaintance with Sir Andrew is a recent one, then?’ 

‘Oh, yes.’ 

‘When, exactly, did you first become acquainted?’ 

*On the occasion of my last visit here in February, when I 
made my first sales to him.’ 

“Yet you lodge with him? Or so I understand.’ 

‘Naturally, friend, since he is my only buyer. It is at his in- 
vitation that I come.’ 

‘Do you think, sir, that having regard to Sir Andrew’s 
political convictions, it is prudent for a stranger to lodge in his 
house at such a time?’ 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 309 


‘I do not perceive the imprudence, friend.’ 

‘Himself he is suspect, as he well knows. That you will 
understand. A stranger lodging under his roof must perforce 
become an object of suspicion. That, too, should be clear 
to you.’ 

‘Nay, friend; it is not clear at all. His convictions are 
naught to me; nor yet are thine. Since both these convictions 
have led to strife, it follows that both are wrong. But Iam not 
concerned with that. Iam concerned’ — and he smiled faintly 
for the first time — ‘to sell tobacco. Here, friend, is some 
fine leaf of my own growing.’ He drew a leather bag from his 
pocket as he spoke, untied the neck, and proffered it. ‘Make 
essay of it, friend. Thou’lt find it choice if so be thou knowest 
tobacco.’ 

Latimer took the bag, conned the leaf, then smelt it. He 
smiled appreciatively. ‘Choice, indeed,’ he said returning it. 

‘Nay, but smoke a pipeful, friend.’ 

Latimer shook his head. ‘I know something of tobacco. I 
do not need to smoke that leaf to judge its quality. It is 
superior to any that ever I have produced.’ 

Neild shrugged a little. ‘As thou wilt,’ he said regretfully, 
and pocketed the bag. 

Latimer rose, and proffered him his pass. Neild got up, too, 
to take it. Watching him intently the while, Latimer could 
detect no shade of relief or of any emotion whatsoever upon 
that stolid face. Save for his one trivial slip in the matter of 
Carey’s plantations he had answered all questions satis- 
factorily. And that one slip might be the result of an ignor- 
ance that afforded no ground for suspicion. And yet it was an 
odd thing that a tobacco-planter who had lodged with Carey 
for a week on one o¢casion and for three days on another, for 
the sole purpose of selling him tobacco, should not have 
elicited the fact that Carey himself had never grown the 
plant. Tobacco would be their natural topic of conversation. 

‘Aye,’ said Latimer, almost in a sigh, and as if pursuing his 


310 THE CAROLINIAN 


own thoughts. ‘You Virginia planters can teach us a deal. 
We Carolinians can produce nothing that can compete with 
your leaf for flavour. Is it true that you use cider in the fer- 
mentation, as I have heard?’ é 

There was a moment’s pause before Neild answered him. 
For the first time in that inquiry his reply to a question did 
not come prompt and pat. A broad smile expanded his 
bearded mouth. He shook his head. 

‘That, friend, is a secret that we guard most jealously.’ 

It was a clumsy way out, though the best that any man in 
Mandeville’s case could have adopted. But, from that mo- 
ment, Latimer suspected him. He betrayed, however, no- 
thing of that suspicion. He smiled agreement, appreciation 
even of the humour of the Quaker’s closeness. 

‘Naturally, naturally. And you guard as secretly the meth- 
ods of your sweating process.’ 

‘Oh, yes,’ the Quaker agreed, still smiling. 

‘Of course. But there are other matters that are common 
knowledge, I imagine. At least knowledge of them may easily 
be obtained. For instance — and this is a point upon which I 
have often been curious, yet, oddly enough, have never had 
occasion to satisfy my curiosity — how many plants do you 
allow to the acre in Virginia?’ 

Again the Quaker hesitated whilst he made rapid mental 
calculations. Desperately he plunged at last. 

‘Somewhere about three thousand, I believe.’ 

‘Three thousand!’ Major Latimer seemed slightly sur- 
prised. 

‘A ...as nearly as I can remember,’ Neild made haste to 
add. 

‘But planting so closely as that, what weight of tobacco do 
you look to get from each plant?’ 

‘Why ...er...the merest trifle less than the average.’ 

‘But what is the average in Virginia?’ asked Latimer, and 
almost at once added the suggestion: ‘A pound?’ 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 311 


‘A pound, yes. A pound.’ 

‘Ah.’ There followed a pause during which Latimer 
thoughtfully considered him. ‘I wonder what weight of seed 
you allow to the acre?’ 

Neild pondered. He was faced by the necessity of more 
desperate calculations, and found himself hopelessly without 
any guide. ‘I don’t recall the exact amount, friend,’ he replied, 
at last. ‘I leave such details to my overseer. Myself, I am 
more concerned with the sale of tobacco than with its growth.’ 

“Yes, yes,’ Latimer persisted, smiling. ‘But you must have 
some notion of the amount — approximately.’ 

‘Approximately? Well, I should say...’ He took his 
nether lip between finger and thumb, and a frown of thought 
corrugated his brow. 

In his heart was the desperate hope that, if he delayed, 
Latimer might prompt him as before. But all that Latimer 
did was to utter an inviting: ‘Yes?’ 

The wretched man plunged desperately, there being no- 
thing else left him. 

‘About five pounds,’ he blurted out. 

He found Major Latimer’s stare deepening in intensity. 

‘To the acre? Five pounds to the acre?’ 

‘As nearly as I can recall.’ 

And now the soldier was smiling again; but it was a smile 
very different from his last; a smile that the Quaker did not 
like at all. 

‘It is extraordinary,’ said he, ‘how methods may vary be- 
tween one province and another. Now, here in Carolina we 
cannot plant more than half the number of plants to the acre 
that you tell me are usually planted in Virginia. Our plants 
yield only half the weight you tell me is yielded by yours. 
That is remarkable enough, but, when we come to this ques- 
tion of seed, the difference is more remarkable by far. You 
allow five pounds to the acre, you tell me. Do you know what 
we allow? Of course, you don’t, or you would not have an- 


312 THE CAROLINIAN 


swered me quite so foolishly. We allow half an ounce, my 
tobacco-planting friend. Remarkable, isn’t it?’ Latimer’s 
smile was broadening. ‘Almost as remarkable as that a spy 
who comes here masquerading as a tobacco-planter should 
not have taken the precaution to make himself master of 
these details.’ 

The Quaker stared at him a moment, then, to his infinite 
amazement, gave way to laughter in which amusement was 
blended with contempt. 

‘A spy! Ho, ho, ho! A spy! Verily, friend, they who en- 
gage in war will forever be starting at shadows, and perceiving 
an enemy in every bush. A spy! And thou’rt assuming that 
upon no better ground than my ignorance of some details of 
tobacco-planting. Faith, friend, if every man in like case is to 
be deemed a spy, there must be a mort o’ spies hereabouts.’ 

‘But every man in like case does not pretend to be a to- 
bacco-planter,’ said Latimer, no whit deceived by the other’s 
easy assurance. 

‘To be a tobacco-planter does not mean that a man must 
plant tobacco with his own hands, but rather one who owns 
plantations, which is my case. I leave the planting, as I have 
already told thee, to my overseer and his men. Myself, I am 
concerned to sell the leaf.’ 

Latimer shook his head. ‘It won’t do, my friend.’ 

The Quaker became serious, slightly annoyed, and very 
dignified. 

‘Have thine own way. Because I do not know how much 
seed will go to the acre, it follows that Iam a spy. Excellent 
reasoning, friend. But I venture to trust it will hardly suffice 
even for men who are besotted by war.’ 

Major Latimer moved back towards the window behind 
him. 

‘Come here,’ he said sharply. ‘I want to have a look at you.’ 

The Quaker started. The perpetual astonishment of his 
face seemed to increase. 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 313 


‘Friend, I do not like thy tone. Civility...’ 

‘Come here. At once!’ Latimer’s voice was hard and per- 
emptory. 

Mr. Neild shrugged, and spread his hands in resignation. 
Then he shuffled forward, his air faintly sullen. 

‘Stand there, in the light.’ 

Not merely in the light, but directly in a shaft of the after- 
noon sunshine did Latimer place him, what time he closely 
scanned that swarthy face, which impassively submitted to 
this searching examination. It revealed to Latimer at last the 
reason for that odd, surprised look with which the Quaker’s 
face was invested. 

“Why have you shaved your eyebrows?’ 

‘I have no eyebrows, friend.’ 

“You had when last I saw you, wherever that may have 
been. I begin to find something familiar in your face, Mr. 
Neild. I wonder what you would look like without that 
beard. Take off your neck-cloth, and open the breast of 
your shirt.’ 

‘Friend, I must protest against this...’ 

‘Open the breast of your shirt; unless you prefer that I call 
the guard to do it for you.’ 

Again the Quaker shrugged ill-humouredly, but, finding re- 
sistance vain, he slowly obeyed with fingers that certainly did 
not fumble. 

Almost Latimer found himself admiring this man, of whose 
real trade he no longer had a single doubt. His nerves were 
certainly of iron. 

‘So,’ he said, as he surveyed the white breast bared to his 
view. ‘As I thought. You have stained your face.’ 

‘It is written that we are to suffer fools gladly,’ said the 
Quaker, in tones of weary resignation. ‘My breast being 
covered hath escaped the sun, by which my face and hands 
are burnt.’ 

Abruptly, from between the fellow’s fingers, Latimer 


314 THE CAROLINIAN 


plucked the neck-cloth which he had removed, but was still 
retaining. He looked at it in the light, and laughed. 

‘Sunburn that comes off on your neck-cloth! I could tell 
you of a better dye than walnut-juice.’ He looked him 
squarely between the eyes again. ‘Now, Master Spy, shall 
we put an end to this play-acting? Will you tell me who you 
are, and what is your real name?’ And then, even as he 
asked, he found at last the clue he sought in that face he had 
been studying so intently. ‘Egad!’ he ejaculated on a note of 
intense surprise. ‘You need not. I know you, Captain Man- 
deville.’ 

The man before him quivered; a spasm crossed his face, like 
a ripple running over water. Then he was composed again as 
before. Very faintly he smiled. He bowed his head a little. 

‘Major Mandeville,’ he corrected. And added with a tinge 
of irony: ‘At your service.’ 

After that for a long moment they remained staring each at 
the other, each grave-faced and suppressing whatever emo- 
tion he may have felt. Then at last Latimer spoke, and what 
he said, all things considered, was odd. 

‘I always thought your eyes were blue. That is one of the 
things that most deceived me.’ 

‘It is one of the things upon which I counted,’ said Mande- 
ville easily, as if discussing something in which he was not so 
perilously concerned. And he stated no more than the fact. 
Blue eyes are readily associated with the fair complexion and 
hair that were Mandeville’s; therefore, the possession of dark 
eyes was of enormous value in such a disguise as he had 
adopted. 

Latimer moved past him, and came forward towards the 
table. Mandeville half-turned to follow him with his glance. 

‘I don’t think,’ said the American, ‘that we need prolong 
this interview.’ 

‘It means a firing-party?’ quoth Mandeville in the same 

cool tone of detachment. 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 315 


‘What else? You know the forfeit in the game you play.’ 
He reached for a hand-bell as he spoke. 

Sharply came Mandeville’s voice to check the intention: ‘I 
would not ring that bell if I were you.’ 

Latimer rang, nevertheless. 

Mandeville spread his hands. ‘You realize that my arrest 
must be followed by that of your father-in-law?’ 

‘What, then?’ 

‘Consider well all that may follow upon that.’ 

The door opened, and Middleton appeared. 

‘Call the guard,’ said Latimer shortly. 

Middleton went out again, leaving the door wide. 

“You fool!’ With passionate vehemence Mandeville hissed 
out the word. ‘What of your wife?’ 

‘My wi...’ Latimer’s jaw dropped. His eyes dilated as 
they stared at his prisoner. ‘My wife knew? Knew that you 
are not the Quaker you pretended to be?’ 

But it was less a question than an exclamation of bitter con- 
viction. In a flash, at the mere mention of Myrtle by Mande- 
ville, he had seen the terrible truth, and swift on the heels of 
that came an array of memories marshalled out of the past to 
fill him with horror and dismay. It did not need the shrug and 
quiet smile that were Mandeville’s only answer to make him 
perceive how fatuous had been his momentary assumption 
that Myrtle had been as deceived in Jonathan Neild as at first 
he had been deceived himself. 

Came firm steps outside, a word of command, and the ring 
of musket butts that are grounded. Middleton reappeared. 

‘The guard, sir.’ 

Latimer commanded himself. ‘Let it wait,’ he said. ‘Until 
I ring again.” 

Middleton went out. And this time, assuming naturally 
that the examination was not yet over, he closed the door. 

And now, white-faced, almost vicious, Latimer turned upon 

the sardonically smiling Mandeville. 


316 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Now, sir,’ he said, ‘perhaps you will make yourself quite 
plain, so that there may be no misunderstanding. What do 
you imply against my wife?’ 

‘But is it really necessary to ask? Does not your own wit 
tell you? I think it must, or you would not have changed 
your mind about the guard.’ 

‘Nevertheless, sir, I am concerned to hear from you the 
precise danger which will threaten her, when you and Sir 
Andrew Carey come before a court-martial?’ 

Mandeville’s hand dropped to his pocket. Instantly 
Latimer covered him with a pistol which he snatched from his 
own breast. 

‘Put up that hand at once!’ 

Mandeville laughed. ‘It is only my snuff-box,’ said he, 
producing it and tapping it composedly. ‘I need a sedative. 
My nerves have been jarred a little.’ He raised the lid, and, 
holding a pinch of tobacco between finger and thumb, he 
resumed: ‘Reassure yourself. I have no weapons about me 
such as would justify you in pistolling me in self-defence.’ He 
applied the snuff to his nostrils. Thereafter, having pocketed 
the box, and, as he was dusting the fragments of tobacco from 
his fingers, he added, with a smile: ‘It would be a convenient 
way of disposing of me, I know.’ 

‘Mandeville, you will answer my question — or — by God! 
— you'll find yourself against that garden wall inside the next 
ten minutes with a firing-party before you. Ill shoot you out 
of hand, and take the risk of it.’ 

‘Risk is hardly the word. Certainty, my friend. Certainty. 
The Governor would have something to say to you. An 
awkward man, Rutledge. He would probe for the reason. 
And where do you think he would probe for it? He would 
have Andrew Carey haled before him, and precisely that 
would happen which must happen if you persist in sending me 
before a court-martial. Besides, even if he did not, be sure 
that all my measures are taken. You do not imagine that 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 317 


I came here in answer to your summons, whose probable 
object I could not possibly misunderstand, without making 
due provision for the worst. I am too old a soldier, my dear 
Latimer, not to make quite sure before going into action that 
my lines of retreat are clear. You should remember that. In 
the old days I gave you credit for some wit. Your present 
attitude hardly appears to justify me. But perhaps you are 
unduly agitated. Let me exhort you to be calm, and calmly 
to consider whither you are driving.’ 

Latimer made the effort, not because he was thus tauntingly 
invited; but because he realized the need to keep his temper 
that his wits should remain unimpaired. He pocketed the 
pistol, and sat down again at the table. By an effort he spoke 
calmly. 

“When my wife was here with you just now, she knew who 
you were?’ 

‘But of course. She has known it these three months, ever 
since we first met in Tradd Street, when you were away at 
Purysburg with General Moultrie. Any inquiry must bring 
that fact to light. Andrew Carey will see to that.’ 

“You tell me that Andrew Carey desires the ruin of his own 
daughter?’ Latimer’s tone was, properly, incredulous. 

‘He desires your ruin, Latimer; and to encompass it he will 
not hesitate to destroy his daughter. With her you, yourself, 
become of necessity involved. You must perceive that.’ 

Latimer had not perceived it. He did not perceive it now, 
nor was he concerned to perceive it. There was something far 
more horrible here to engage his perceptions. Whilst he 
pondered it, Mandeville continued. 

‘She has been regularly coming and going between Moul- 
trie’s headquarters here and her father’s house. Her father will 
swear, what it will require no oaths to establish: that she has 
brought information which has been passed on to the British.’ 

‘That at least is a lie!’ 

‘Is it? The matter is not worth argument. False or true, it 


318 THE CAROLINIAN 


will be very readily believed. It will be the preconception of 
the court.’ 

And miserably Latimer realized the truth of this, remem- 
bering the offensive recommendation he had received from 
Rutledge to forbid his wife’s visits to Tradd Street, a recom- 
mendation which he had indignantly disregarded. 

Calmly Mandeville resumed: ‘If her father swears that, as 
swear it he will, it follows that such information as she has 
conveyed can have been obtained only from yourself. Where 
shall you stand, then, Latimer?’ 

‘Bah! I don’t care!’ Latimer was obviously in torment. 

‘For yourself, perhaps not. But there is Myrtle. Do you 
think I care for myself? Do you think it is to save my own 
life that I am troubling to caution you? It is because, if Iam 
brought to trial, so inevitably will Myrtle be; and because, 
whatever my fate, she will be made to share it. Whether you 
are involved or not, I care not a farthing rush-light.’ 

Latimer leaned his elbows heavily upon the table, and took 
his head in his hands. His face seemed to have aged in the last 
few minutes. The youth had all gone out of it. It was drawn 
and haggard. 

Mandeville looked at him from under lowered eyelids, and 
again went on, speaking slowly, now. ‘I wonder whether you 
have ever gauged the depth and ferocity of Carey’s hate, for 
the wrong you did him — the intolerable wrong of baulking 
him of his revenge by legitimate means. You bound him hard 
when you withheld your shot that night at Brewton’s Ball. Do 
you conceive how he has writhed in those bonds? How his 
hate has grown and grown by contemplation of his incapacity 
to call you out, and deal with you as one man with another? 
To reach you, he suffered himself to be reconciled with Myrtle. 
A cruel comedy. He regards her with a detestation only a 
degree less than that with which he visits you. In his eyes, 
she is an ingrate, an unnatural child who has turned against 
her parent, joined his worst enemy. Call it mad, if you will. 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 319 


On my soul, I believe he is mad where you are concerned. But 
do not, for Myrtle’s sake, make light of the power for evil that 
lies in that madness of hate by which he is afflicted.’ 

He ceased at last. Still Latimer did not move. Still he sat 
there grey-faced, staring straight before him. There was a 
long pause, during which Mandeville composedly buttoned 
his shirt and resumed his neck-cloth, before a mirror on the 
overmantel. 

‘Well?’ he asked, at last. ‘What are you going to do? You 
cannot without danger long delay your decision.’ 

Latimer was as one who awakens. He stirred and rose. 

‘I cannot let you go. I would not if I could. My duty 
there is clear. I cannot shield myself at the expense of my 
country.’ 

‘As to that,’ said Mandeville, ‘you need have no appre- 
hension that any action of yours now can avert what must be. 
To-morrow, or the next day at latest, Prevost will enter 
Charles Town. Here I am his agent; but not his message- 
bearer. I have several of those. One of them, as you told me, 
and, as I already knew, you caught this morning. But there 
are others whom you did not catch, nor will. Others who will 
convey any information of importance up to the last moment. 
Charles Town is doomed, sir. Whatever you may do by me 
cannot affect that.’ 

‘It may be. But —and I thank God for’t —I have my 
orders, and they are to detain you in any case.’ 

‘Detain me all you please. But, if you have any regard for 
Myrtle, to say nothing of yourself, you will do no more than 
that.’ 

‘I must think.’ It was almost a groan. Then, controlling 
himself, Latimer announced his decision. ‘Meanwhile you 
shall be detained as I am bidden.’ 

No gleam of triumph in his eyes revealed Mandeville’s 
relief. But he checked Latimer as he was about to ring again. 

‘A moment, please! May I send two lines to my lodging, to 


320 THE CAROLINIAN 


announce that I shall not be returning just yet, and... to 
avert what must happen if they have no news?’ 

Latimer frowned, clearly hesitating. 

‘Consider,’ said Mandeville, ‘how natural would be the 
request in the case of my simple detention upon suspicion, 
and how natural must be your acquiescence.’ He paused, 
and, as Latimer still did not answer him, he added: ‘Un- 
less you can do that, you may as well denounce me out of 
hand, for Carey will act as was concerted between us in the 
event of my not returning.’ 

A moment still, Latimer stood undecided. ‘Very well,’ he 
said at last, conquered by his dread, and by something else 
vaguely stirring in his mind. ‘There is what you need for 
writing.’ 

Mandeville sat down and rapidly scrawled some lines on a 
sheet of paper. As he was folding it, Latimer held out a hand 
across the table. 

Get me'see it.” 

The spy looked up in surprise. Then surrendered the sheet. 

He had written: 


I am detained on business, and I may not return to-night. 
JONATHAN NEILD 


‘This is a code, of course.’ 

‘Of course,’ said Mandeville. ‘It explains my position, but 
allays alarm.’ 

‘Very well.’ Latimer folded the sheet. ‘Superscribe it.’ 

When that was done, Latimer pocketed it. ‘It shall be 
delivered before nightfall, whatever may happen to you.’ 

‘What!’ Mandeville bounded to his feet. ‘You are break- 
ing faith!’ 

‘No. But I must consider my course. I must have time to 
think.’ He rang the bell abruptly. 

Mandeville drew a deep breath. He even smiled a little. 
‘You have tricked me,’ he complained, but without bitterness. 


CONCERNING TOBACCO 321 


‘Perhaps not,’ Latimer replied. ‘At best I may have 
obtained a respite. You shall be informed.’ 

To Middleton who came in: ‘Remove the prisoner,’ he said. 
‘He is detained pending further inquiry.’ 

‘Come, sir. By the right. March!’ 

Mandeville was the Quaker Neild once more, shuffling a 
little in his steps, and speaking through his nose. 

‘Nay, friend, nay! I know naught of thy military orders.’ 

But he went out, and Latimer was left alone with his 
misery. 


CHAPTER XI 
VIA CRUCIS 


ITTLE imagination is necessary to follow the path by 
5 which the mind of Harry Latimer now journeyed to the 
Calvary of all that he held dearest in his life. 

Forgotten by him in that hour of agony was the war upon 
which he was engaged; forgotten the enemy at the gates and 
the imminence of the peril by which Charles Town was 
threatened. In his own past, as he went over it in anguished 
review, he found that which blotted the present from his mind, 
making it a thing of no account. 

Seated there alone in that partly dismantled library, he 
went back to the beginnings of his married life, and to the 
quarrels that had poisoned it until, on that day when the 
battle of Fort Sullivan was fought, he had deliberately sought 
euthanasia in death. Again he heard Myrtle denouncing their 
matriage. 

‘I wish I had not married you. I would give ten years of 
my life to undo that!’ 

And he remembered her tacit admission that she had 
married him only to induce him to depart from Charles Town; 
that she had married him out of pity, to quiet her conscience 
which told her that it was because of her, and of what he 
had discovered between her and Mandeville, that he was 
so obstinately determined to remain in Charles Town even 
though he should hang for it. : 

Back beyond that his thoughts ran on, to that day at Fair- 
grove when with his own eyes he had beheld evidence which 
only a fool could subsequently have been brought to disregard. 

Oh, it was all plain; most damnably plain. His entire 
married life had been a miserable lie; her love had been a 


VIA CRUCIS 323 


shameful make-believe; their child... Oh, God! Their child, 
born in a wedlock that was a mockery of all that wedlock 
should be. Again he leaned his elbows on the table and took 
his head in his hands, closing the eyes of the flesh so that the 
eyes of the soul might review again and recognize at last this 
fool’s paradise which he had so complacently inhabited. 

It was Mandeville whom she had loved. Himself she had 
married for the reasons he had reviewed already, and further, 
perhaps, not only to save him, but to save Mandeville, too. 
For he remembered now how he had pointed out to her in 
what peril must Mandeville and Lord William stand if they 
dared, indeed, to attempt to hang him. Either that, or else 
her impulse of pity for himself, had been the only spur. And 
this impulse had afterwards been repented as must be all 
impulses that are to involve in their consequence the whole 
course of subsequent existence. That repentance she had 
expressed more than once and in terms so unmistakable that 
again he was a fool to have allowed them to be thrust aside by 
fresh lying protestations of affection made at a time when he 
was almost at the point of death. 

It was Mandeville whom she had loved throughout. He 
should not have needed the bitter proofs that lay now before 
him. Her reconciliation with her father had taken place at a 
time when Mandeville was in Charles Town. What did that 
prove but a continuous correspondence between them? The 
story of her father’s illness was but another lie wherewith to 
dupe him. And whilst Mandeville had been there in disguise, 
she had been meeting him daily at her father’s; meeting a man 
who was her husband’s enemy. And was meeting him the 
whole extent of her treachery? Might it not be true, as 
Mandeville had more than hinted, that she had conveyed to 
him information gleaned here at Moultrie’s headquarters? If 
she was false in one thing, why should she not be false in the 
other? Indeed, of the two, considering the faith in which she 
had been reared, betrayal of the colonial cause was a light 


324 THE CAROLINIAN 


offence compared with her betrayal of the fond fool of a 
husband who trusted her so completely. 

Did he lack proof of this? Was there not her own admission 
to Moultrie that she had met Neild at her father’s? An 
admission made —as he now perceived — because denial 
would have been fraught with danger? And was it possible, 
was it for a single moment to be supposed — as for a moment 
in his blind faith he had supposed — that she should have 
been deceived in Mandeville’s identity? Why, even assuming 
that Mandeville and her infernal father had been in league to 
lay a trap for him through her, would they not have begun by 
disclosing Neild’s true identity? So that, one way or the 
other, she must have known. Yet, knowing it, she continued 
to visit Mandeville at her father’s house. Had she been honest, 
she would have denounced him at once to the Governor; or, if 
merely some old tenderness remained, at least she would have 
told her husband the truth on his return to Charles Town. 
Instead she had lied by her silence, and once, indeed, by her 
speech when Moultrie questioned her. For what but a lie was 
the answer she had made? And that very day, an hour ago, 
when he had found them together in this room, she had lied to 
him again by her attitude and her very words. She had 
proved herself then to be Mandeville’s accomplice. Would 
she be his accomplice in such work as he was engaged upon, 
work that threatened Harry’s life and honour as it threatened 
the lives and fortunes of all in Charles Town, unless at the 
same time she were something more? 

The evidence was complete, and the truth that leapt from 
it stark and inexorable filled him with a shuddering horror. 

Still seated there as the daylight was fading, Myrtle found 
him when she came wondering in quest of him. 

‘Harry!’ 

He sprang up abruptly at the sound of her voice, startled, 
like a man who has been suddenly awakened. Corrosive 
reproaches and recriminations were surging to his lips. But 


VIA CRUCIS 325 


they remained unuttered. In that little moment in which she 
approached him across the room, he took his decision to 
employ guile, to question craftily, to discover at all costs the 
whole truth. The truth! He heard a devil laughing in his soul. 
The truth! Had he not fed himself to a surfeit in the past hour 
upon the vile, nauseating truth? Not, then, to test these 
abominable irresistible convictions, which required no further 
test, but to plum the depths of her infamy and turpitude 
would he question her. 

‘Harry, what are you doing here? It is almost dark.’ There 
was a straining note of anxiety in her sweet voice, the voice 
that he had loved best in all the world. He guessed the source 
of her uneasiness. 

He yawned and stretched himself. ‘I... I must have fallen 
asleep,’ he explained drowsily through his yawn. 

He caught the sound of the deep breath of relief she drew, 
and knew how she would be arguing. If he had been able 
to fall asleep after his interview with Mr. Neild, it must 
follow that nothing had transpired to disturb his peace of 
mind. 

‘My poor Harry!’ Her voice was a caress of tenderness and 
concern. ‘I know how weary you must be. I am glad that 
you slept a little.’ 

‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘Yes. If that cursed Quaker hadn’t 
been brought in this afternoon, I might have had a little rest. 
God knows I need it.’ 

‘What have you done with him? With Mr. Neild?’ She 
spoke evenly, almost casually, and in his heart he damned her 
for a traitress. 

‘Detained him,’ he answered shortly. 

‘Detained him?’ Her voice was casual no longer. It was 
startled. ‘Detained him? Why?’ 

‘Rutledge’s orders. That is all.’ 

‘But what is there against him?’ 

‘Nothing that I could be certain of. But Rutledge desired 


"326 THE CAROLINIAN 


him to be kept in custody for the present, until our troubles 
here are over, on the chance of his being a spy. Rutledge will 
take no risks of having information sent to the enemy.’ He 
sat down again. Myrtle remained standing, leaning rather 
heavily upon the table. ‘Unsupported,’ he thought, ‘her 
trembling would betray her.’ 

‘But ...do you... do you think he’s a spy?’ 

He laughed easily. ‘Why, I vow your voice shook then. 
No, no. The fellow’s papers are in order, and he seems to be 
what he pretends. We shall have to keep him until his being 
at large can no longer matter, inany event. That is all. And 
Feu 

‘Yes?’ she asked. He did not answer, but sat as one think- 
ing deeply. ‘And yet — what?’ she demanded. 

He feigned to rouse himself, and looked at her. In the dim 
light her face was indistinct. 

‘I cannot quite escape the conviction that the fellow is not 
what he pretends, however much appearances may be in his 
favour. D’ye know, Myrtle, there’s something oddly familiar 
about him. Something that eludes me. But I shall find it yet, 
I hope. He reminds me of some one. But so vaguely that I 
cannot think of whom it is. Tell me, did you notice anything 
of the kind?’ 

‘I? No.’ She was emphatic. ‘No.’ 

“And yet you must have seen a good deal of him, and talked 
with him often.’ 

‘I?’ she cried again, and this time, it was almost as if she 
were about to deny it. 

‘Why, of course,’ he answered. ‘At your father’s.’ 

‘Yes. I have seen him there once or twice.’ 

‘And you’ve talked with him, of course.’ 

‘Not... not very much.’ 

‘No? Well, at least, you were in here with him this after- 
noon for a quarter of an hour or more before I arrived. You 
must have been talking to him then, observing him.’ 


VIA CRUCIS 327 


‘Yes, of course.’ Her voice was becoming strained and un- 
natural. She could no longer command it as she would. 

‘And in all that time you observed nothing in the man 
that reminded you of any one else?’ 

She uttered a nervous laugh. ‘Why, no. It is some fancy 
of yours, Harry. It must be.’ 

‘Ah, well!’ He sighed and rose. ‘Perhaps it is.’ And very 
casually, almost as if rallying her, he asked: ‘But what on 
earth did you find to talk about with such a dullard in all that 
time?’ 

‘I?’ she paused perceptibly, then abruptly answered: ‘Oh, 
I forget.’ 

‘Forget?’ His tone expressed astonishment. ‘Oh, come, 
Myrtle. You must have had some reason for seeking him 
when Middleton told you he was here. What was it?’ 

‘Why ... why are you questioning me like this?’ 

‘But...’ He paused, a man amazed by her sudden de- 
mand. ‘Is there anything surprising in my questions?’ 

‘No, no. But ... Well, if you must know, I wanted news 
of my father.’ 

‘But you saw your father only yesterday.’ 

‘Yes, but when Mr. Middleton told me Mr. Neild was here, 
I imagined that he came with some message for me from my 
father. I didn’t know that you had sent for him.’ 

‘Oh, I see. And then, of course, you would be staying to 
discuss with him the matter of this summons?’ 

‘Of course. He thought it strange, and wondered why you 
should want him.’ 

‘And after that? You see, my dear, I am anxious to see if 
anything that passed between you might give us a clue to go 
upon. Try to remember what you have talked about.’ 

She made a pretence of trying, then impatiently, almost 
irritably, burst out: ‘Oh, I can’t. It was all so... so trivial. 
He talked of tobacco. It is his only subject. He’s a tobacco- 
planter.’ 


328 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘You’re sure of that? That he’s a tobacco-planter?’ 

‘Well, isn’t he?’ 

‘That is what he represents himself. But I have my doubts. 
You know nothing of him beyond that?’ 

‘What should I know?’ Her petulance became more 
marked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. I came to fetch you to 
supper. General Moultrie is waiting.’ 

‘Forgive me, my dear. I am a little harassed.’ 

They went into the dining-room together, she with terror 
in her heart, he with hatred in his. He had given her a chance 
to speak, to confess; and she had fenced with him, and put him 
off with answers every word of which was a lie in its suppres- 
sion of the truth. And this was the woman he had taken to 
his heart, this was his wife, the mother of his boy! This 
perfidious liar! It but remained to consider what course he 
must pursue. 

During supper he mentioned casually to Moultrie that the 
Quaker had been there, and that his papers were in order, but 
that, in accordance with Rutledge’s instructions, he was 
having him detained. 

Moultrie laughed. He regarded the Quaker’s plight as 
comical, and Rutledge’s fears as more comical still. 

Myrtle, whom Harry was covertly watching, was deathly 
pale, and did no more than make a pretence of eating. But he 
was to startle her yet further. 

Abruptly, towards the close of the meal and making his 
voice as casual as he could, he asked a question that flung her 
into panic. 

‘Myrtle, do you happen to know what has become of your 
Cousin Robert Mandeville?’ 

Her knife clattered to her plate. Terror looked at him out 
of her eyes under which he saw the shadows deepen as he 
watched her. 

‘Why ...why do you ask?’ Her voice came hard and 
rasping. 


VIA CRUCIS 320 


He raised his eyebrows. ‘But...’ He seemed perplexed. 
‘Now, what is there extraordinary in the question that it 
should startle you like this?’ 

She attempted to smile. But the attempt was pitiful. 

‘It...it is... that I am not very well,’ she said weakly. 
‘Tam easily startled. My... my ears,’ she added on a sudden 
inspiration, ‘keep straining for the guns.’ 

‘Poor child, poor child!’ Moultrie murmured sympathet- 
ically. 

‘I know, dear, I know.’ Nothing could have been more 
soothing than her husband’s voice. ‘I asked the question 
because Mandeville has been oddly in my thoughts this 
evening. Heaven knows why. I’m not given to thinking about 
him. You know nothing of him, I suppose?’ 

She shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said. 

Moultrie, thrusting back his chair and rising, put an end 
to the matter. But it was ended already, for Latimer had no 
intention of driving her into further falsehoods. 

‘Come along, Harry,’ the General urged him, ‘there’s work 
to do. I had a message from Rutledge a half-hour since. He’s 
in the lines.’ 

Lest he should arouse her suspicions, Harry went to kiss 
his wife. She rose, and clung to him a moment. He patted 
her shoulder encouragingly, assured her that they would not 
be long away, that there was no danger of an attack that 
night, and followed Moultrie, who had already departed. As 
he reached the door, her voice, rather strident in its sudden- 
ness, arrested him: 

‘Harry!’ 

He turned. She was standing leaning against the table, and 
looking straight before her and away from him. She was 
obviously in prey to some inward struggle. 

‘I...1...wantto...’ She broke off. There was a pause. 
Then she resumed. ‘I want you to take care of yourself. I 
shall not go to bed until you return.’ 


330 THE CAROLINIAN 


But he knew that this was not what she had desired to say; 
and he went out with the assurance that for one moment she 
had attempted to draw back from the morass of falsehood 
into which she was sinking. 


CHAPTER XII 
THE TEST 


HE whole of that night was spent by Latimer in the 
lines, where the men stood to arms in the lurid light 
of an array of flaring tar-barrels which partially dispelled the 
darkness and provided in some small measure against surprise. 
Early in the evening there had been some heavy firing 
which had startled the town, conveying the impression that 
an assault was being attempted. It resulted from an unfor- 
tunate incident, which had, however, the immediate effect 
of delimiting the too vague powers of Governor Rutledge. 
Hitherto the Governor had claimed to himself the control and 
command of the militia which he had brought in with him 
from Orangeburg. Discovering that night a breach in the 
abatis, he had ordered up a body of these men under Major 
Huger to repair it. Their movements before the lines had 
alarmed those who guarded them, and whose orders from the 
General to fire upon any persons approaching the fortification 
in the darkness were quite explicit. Imagining that they had 
to do with a party of the enemy, a few hopping shots were 
loosed at the moving figures, which were taken by the en- 
trenched men as a signal. A rapid fire of musketry and even 
of some cannon ran swiftly along the lines to rake the open 
ground beyond. 

The excitement was soon allayed; but, in the meantime, 
Major Huger and twelve of his men had been killed. And the 
result was a sharp encounter between Moultrie and Rutledge, 
in which the former demanded that an end should be made to 
this dual control of the military forces, which if continued 
would end in ruining them. Rutledge, dismayed by the event, 
gave way more promptly than was his custom in disputes. 


339 THE CAROLINIAN 


Another result of the unfortunate death of the gallant and 
widely esteemed Benjamin Huger was that Tom Izard, who 
was more or less without occupation, and yet anxious for em- 
ployment during his enforced sojourn in Charles Town at 
such a time, was placed in command of a company of militia. 

It would be towards three o’clock in the morning, when as 
Moultrie and Latimer were riding along towards the Town 
Gate from an inspection of the fortifications to the south, 
which the sappers were still actively labouring to strengthen, 
they were challenged out of the gloom. As they drew rein, an 
officer rode forward to inform the General that his excellency 
desired to consult with him at once. 

They found Rutledge with a half-dozen officers, of whom 
Christopher Gadsden, and at least three others, were also 
privy councillors. The Governor was seated on a pile of 
rubble by the gate, the officers standing about him, and the 
group was lighted by the ruddy blaze of a tar-barrel. Half as- 
similated by the darkness in the background, on the very 
fringe of the wide wheel of light, their waiting horses were be- 
ing held for them. 

Moultrie and Latimer dismounted, and, leaving their horses 
in the charge of a militiaman, they advanced towards that 
gathering which had all the air of a council of war. 

A negro was serving out Antigua rum from a jar which had 
been fetched from Gadsden’s house. The newcomers were 
given each a cup, which was very welcome to them both, for 
at this hour before the dawn there was a chilling sharpness in 
the air. Moultrie took further advantage of the respite to fill 
and light himself a pipe. 

Then, when the negro had departed to carry the jar to the 
officers on the abatis with General Gadsden’s compliments, 
Rutledge broached the matter upon which these men had been 
summoned. 

He was seated on the rubble in an attitude of some dejec- 
tion, his elbow on his knee, his chin in his palm, and his face 


THE TEST 333 


revealed by the ruddy light looked more grim and careworn 
than ever. 

‘Information has reached me that Prevost has made all 
preparations to bring over the main body of his army as soon 
as it is daylight. The British number between seven and 
eight thousand men, which is more by at least a thousand 
than I had hitherto supposed. They are well equipped, well 
armed, in good order, and strongly supported by artillery. At 
what number do you put our own strength, General Moul- 
trie?’ 

‘Somewhere in the neighbourhood of three thousand,’ 
Moultrie answered him. 

Rutledge sighed wearily. ‘Too generous an estimate by a 
thousand, I fear.’ 

This, however, Moultrie would not admit. He went into 
details to prove the Governor wrong; and partially suc- 
ceeded. 

‘Even so,’ Rutledge rejoined at length, ‘we are very far 
from being in sufficient strength to withstand the formidable 
army arrayed against us.’ 

Moultrie laughed. ‘We never have been, even in the opin- 
ion of men of wider military experience than your excel- 
lency’s. General Lee spoke just so to me when I commanded 
the fort on Sullivan Island. His only preoccupation was that 
I should have a sound bridge for retreat. I trust your excel- 
lency will not push the parallel as far as that.’ 

The grim humour of his words drew a ready laugh from 
some of the others whom previously Rutledge kad been in- 
fecting with his gloom. It was characteristic of Moultrie, 
with his easy ways and his indifference to danger, obstinately 
to refuse to estimate strength by numbers only. He was not 
merely brave in himself; but he inspired bravery in others. 

‘I have to remember, sirs,’ Rutledge answered in his cold, 
formal voice, ‘that should the British force the lines there will 
be great loss of life and great suffering in the town itself.’ 


334 THE CAROLINIAN 


Gadsden interposed almost irritably. He was the same 
downright extremist in military matters that he had always 
been in politics. 

‘That is not the thing to remember at such a time as this, 
Rutledge.’ 

‘Not for you, perhaps, who are soldiers and have plain 
soldierly duties to perform. But certainly for me, who am re- 
sponsible for the welfare of those over whom I am placed to 
govern. You know what are the horrors that attend the 
storming of a town. Will you expose Charles Town to that? 
Dare you do it, knowing the weakness of our defences?’ 

Moultrie took the pipe from between his teeth. ‘By God!’ 
he cried out. ‘You are not proposing that we should sur- 
render before even a blow has been struck?’ 

‘I am not in a position to make proposals of any kind until 
I know what terms the British might be disposed to offer.’ 

He was interrupted almost angrily. Several of them spoke 
at once, sharp and excitedly. Moultrie best expressed their 
general amazement. 

‘My God, man, what’s come to you? Is the situation more 
desperate than at Fort Sullivan? Yet then, when Lee advised 
its evacuation — and Lee was neither a coward nor a fool — 
you wrote to me, while the battle was raging: ‘‘I will cut off 
my right hand before I sign the order to retreat.” Those were 
your words then. I treasure the memory of them. And yet 
now you — the man who could write that at such a time...’ 

He was drowned by the uproar of the others who made 
chorus to him in their upbraidings of the Governor. Rut- 
ledge waited until the storm of protest had abated. 

‘This, sirs, does more credit to your valour than your judg- 
ment. You cannot deny the weakness of our earthworks.’ 

‘But they still remain earthworks,’ Moultrie countered. 
‘And it is for the British to attack them. I know which side 
has the advantage in such a contest.’ 

‘If you had not a town behind you, I should agree, General.’ 


THE TEST 335 


‘There was a town behind me at Sullivan Island!’ cried 
Moultrie in exasperation. 

Rutledge preserved his calm. ‘There is an obvious differ- 
ence between the situations. There will be a bombardment, 
and in the bombardment the town will suffer horribly. That 
same bombardment can render our trenches untenable. It 
were best, General, as a preliminary, to send a flag, and as- 
certain what terms General Prevost is disposed to grant us.’ 

Moultrie swore with unusual vehemence. ‘I shall certainly 
send no flag,’ said he. ‘The defence, not the surrender, of the 
place has been entrusted to me. I hold it can be defended, and 
I intend to defend it.’ 

Rutledge rose. ‘And if I order you to send a flag?’ 

‘Before you can order so grave a step as this, you must have 
the authority of your Council. If the Council decides to sup- 
port you, I must do as you wish. But short of that I will not 
take the responsibility.’ 

The others present were as fiercely and unanimously of 
Moultrie’s mind that Rutledge was compelled to bow to their 
will. 

But if he could not prevail upon them, he certainly could 
and did prevail upon the Council assembled at his house soon 
after daybreak. The result of it was that, in the light of early 
morning, ill-humouredly and burning with shame, the de- 
fender of Charles Town penned the following lines, which the 
Council itself dictated to him: 


General Moultrie, perceiving from the motions of your army, 
that your intention is to besiege the town, would be glad to 
know upon what terms you would be disposed to grant a capitu- 
lation, should he be inclined to capitulate. 


He had insisted upon the last clause, claiming that ‘the 
question of capitulation was yet to be weighed again whatever 
the terms that Prevost offered. 

As the sun rose, it was Major Latimer, as Moultrie’s chief 


336 THE CAROLINIAN 


aide, who rode out of the lines, under a flag of truce borne by 
one of the two troopers who escorted him, towards the British 
camp. 

Away to the southwest they could perceive the masses of 
scarlet and the glitter of arms and accoutrements of the main 
army which was already beginning to cross by the ferry. 

It was not until an hour before noon that Latimer returned, 
and, upon being informed that General Moultrie had gone 
home to await the British answer, he followed at once. News 
of what was happening had leaked out, and there was a dense 
crowd in Broad Street when Latimer and his troopers came 
riding thither. They were hemmed in by it before Moultrie’s 
own door, and Latimer found himself bombarded by anxious 
questions, which he would not have been authorized to an- 
swer even had he been qualified. As it was, he was in ignor- 
ance of the contents of the letter that he bore. 

It was only with difficulty that he could break his way 
through the throng, largely composed of men and officers re- 
lieved from the lines, who, instead of using the respite to 
snatch the rest of which they stood in need, were driven by 
anxiety to besiege in this fashion the General’s door. 

At last Latimer reached the quiet haven within the garden 
gates, and dismounting went straight in quest of Moultrie, 
who, roused by the uproar outside, met him in the hall. They 
passed into the library together, and there Moultrie opened 
the letter, which was not from General Prevost, but from his 
brother, the Colonel commanding the advance guard. It ran 
as follows: 


Sir, 

The humane treatment which the inhabitants of Georgia and 
this province have hitherto received, will, I flatter myself, induce 
you to accept of the offers of peace and protection which I now 
make, by the orders of General Prevost; the evils and horrors at- 
tending the event of a storm (which cannot fail to be successful) 
are too evident not to induce a man of humane feelings to do all in 


THE TEST 337 


his power to prevent it; you may depend that every attention shall 
be paid and every necessary measure adopted to prevent disorders; 
and that such of the inhabitants who may not choose to receive the 
generous offers of peace and protection may be received as pris- 
oners of war, and their fate decided by that of the rest of the 
colonies. 

Four hours shall be allowed for an answer; after which your 
silence will be deemed a positive refusal. 

I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient servant, 

J. M. PREvost 


Colonel commanding the advance camp at Ashley-Ferry 


‘Damn his impudence,’ said Moultrie, as he finished read- 
ing. ‘And damn the Governor for giving him the chance to 
put it upon us. Unconditional surrender. That’s his demand 
in plain terms. And a four hours’ truce is all that accom- 
panies it.’ 

He handed the letter to Latimer, who had barely finished 
reading it when Rutledge arrived, driven by his impatience 
to know what answer the British had made. 

He looked more hollow-eyed and haggard than ever this 
morning. But he had changed his clothes, his wig was well 
curled, and he seemed to have recovered his erstwhile calm 
which latterly had been deserting him. He read the letter in 
silence, standing by one of the tall windows to do so. When he 
had read, he slowly folded it, his brows rumpled in thought. 
His lips moved. But all the comment he offered was to ex- 
claim: ‘Four hours!’ as if that trivial detail were the only 
thing that mattered in a letter demanding unconditional sur- 
render. 

‘You realize what he means?’ quoth Moultrie. 

Rutledge looked up. He manifested neither impatience nor 
anger. 

‘Entirely,’ he said, and pocketed the letter. ‘I must lay 
this before the Council at once.’ He began to cross the room 
towards the door. ‘You had better come to the meeting also, 


338 THE CAROLINIAN 


Moultrie; send word to Pulaski and Laurens to be there as 
well, as soon as they can contrive.’ 

He opened the door, then paused, and turned again. ‘Major 
Latimer,’ he asked, ‘what have you done with the Quaker 
Neild?’ 

‘I have detained him, as you commanded me.’ 

‘You found out nothing about him?’ 

‘Nothing definite,’ Latimer lied. ‘His papers were in order.’ 

‘I knew that. Another matter: I have already warned you 
to discourage your wife’s visits to her father. Have you done 
so?’ 

Latimer flushed a little. ‘I have already had the honour to 
tell your excellency what I think of the order.’ 

‘I care nothing, sir, what you think of my orders. But I do 
care that you obey them. Mrs. Latimer visited her father 
again late last night. I know because I am having the house 
watched. If this should happen once more, I shall be con- 
strained to measures which will be as distasteful to you as to 
myself.’ 

He went out without waiting for a reply. 

Moultrie looked at Latimer and shrugged. ‘You’d better 
do as he wishes. The man is obsessed by his terror of spies. 
Gad! I don’t know what’s come to him.’ Then, with an 
abrupt change to a brisker tone: ‘And now if you'll...’ He 
checked. The sight of Latimer’s drawn, white face gave him 
pause. ‘No, no, you’re worn out already, and you must rest, 
my lad. Whom have we got here?’ 

And Moultrie walked out into the hall, Latimer following 
with dragging feet. He felt that he could have borne his phy- 
sical weariness cheerfully but for the wound that was gnawing 
at his heart, a wound which the Governor’s last words had set 
bleeding anew. 

Three orderlies waited outside, and one of them in reply to 
the General informed him that Mr. Middleton was in the 
office. The subaltern was fetched and received his orders. 


THE TEST 330 


‘Find Count Pulaski and Colonel John Laurens, and bid 
them attend the Governor at once at his house. That first. 
Then find Colonel Cambray, and tell him to push on with the 
work on the left of the lines — he knows the place — as fast 
as possible. Then my compliments to Colonel Finlay, and 
order him to have all the ammunition taken up into the lines 
immediately. When I left this morning, some of the men had 
not more than three rounds. That is all, Mr. Middleton. 
Please lose no time.’ He turned, as Middleton went off, and, 
thrusting an arm through Latimer’s, he uttered a short laugh. 
‘You see what I think of Prevost’s offer. We don’t capitulate 
on such terms as those, or on any terms, if William Moultrie 
can prevent it. And if it were not for this confusion of the 
civil and the military authorities, there would never have 
been any question of it. That’s where the mischief lies, 
Harry. If each of us had kept to his own business, this situa- 
tion would never have arisen. Lincoln, who is Commander- 
in-Chief in the South, is, himself, under instructions from 
Rutledge, who is not a soldier. Look at the result. Lincoln 
with a strong army is wasting time capturing Savannah 
which is practically without defences, and not worth captur- 
ing. While he is doing it, Prevost may reduce Charles Town 
and destroy an army. That is what the civilian mind can 
never understand; that to capture cities or whole provinces is 
a waste of time and energy so long as the enemy armies re- 
main in the field. In my heart I am sure that it is entirely 
through Rutledge’s damned meddling that Lincoln is idling 
in Georgia. It all resulted from that visit to Orangeburg and 
the secret consultations held between them.’ 

It was unlike Moultrie to express himself so freely; and it 
was the first time in Latimer’s experience of him that loyalty 
to Rutledge had not made him take Rutledge’s part, even 
when Rutledge was manifestly mistaken in his course. From 
this he judged the bitterness in Moultrie’s mind at finding 
himself in a difficult strategic position where, if he, or any 


340 THE CAROLINIAN 


other experienced soldier, had been consulted, the advantage 
might have been entirely on the other side. 

‘It almost drives me mad,’ he concluded, ‘to think of what 
might be, and of what is. But, by God, I’ll deal with what is, 
as a soldier should. I’ll be ridden no further by any civilian, 
and I don’t surrender to Prevost any more than I surrendered 
to Parker.’ 

Abruptly he added: 

‘Now, go break your fast, lad, and get what rest you can 
until I need you again, which will be all too soon.’ 

Latimer stood hesitating a moment after Moultrie had de- 
parted. And it was none of the things that Moultrie had said 
that now engaged his mind. The thought of coming face to 
face with Myrtle was repellent to him just then. 

With leaden feet and a dull ache in his mind, he went to- 
wards the dining-room. Myrtle was standing by the window, 
with little Andrew at her side, when he entered. Both turned, 
and, whilst Myrtle gave her husband a wistful smile from out 
of a wan, white face, Andrew came bounding towards him, 
with joyously excited cries, to embrace his dust-stained knees. 

Never in his life had Latimer felt nearer to tears than at 
that moment as he lifted his little lad up until the chubby, 
laughing face was level with his own. 

More slowly Myrtle crossed to his side. ‘Set him down, 
Harry,’ she urged gently. ‘You are scarce fit to carry your 
own self, my poor boy.’ 

Knowing what he knew, her solicitude was almost an insult 
in its insincerity. He kissed the child, and set him down, then 
suffered himself to be drawn to table, and sat there his chin 
on his breast while Myrtle ministered to him, poured him 
coffee to which she added a tablespoonful of rum, deeming 
him in need of the stimulant, and piling a plate for him with 
slices of venison and ham. 

Urged by her, he began to eat, mechanically, whilst she 
gave attention to keeping Andrew from tormenting him. It 


THE TEST 341 


was characteristic of her not to intrude with any excessive 
solicitude such as that with which a less thoughtful woman 
might have plagued him, nor yet to trouble him with her own 
deep distress at his condition. She knew that he was already - 
shouldering a sufficient burden. His haggard face and dull 
eyes bore witness to it, as did his stained and dusty uniform 
and his rather dishevelled head which dust had rendered al- 
most fulvid. 

Quiet she sat there, quieting their son, making no attempt 
to disturb him, not even attempting to address him. And he, 
eating mechanically and stealing ever and anon a glance at 
her pale, finely featured, spiritual face, was indulging thoughts 
that at first were very bitter, but into which gradually there 
crept a doubt. A trite old saying to the effect that appear- | 
ances are deceptive and not to be trusted had occurred to him 
at first as he contemplated her own gentle, almost angelic 
countenance. Who, he asked himself, could believe that one 
so fair and sweet to behold could be so canker-hearted as was 
she? And then, just as he persuaded himself that here was 
proof of the truth of that old adage, its other application to 
her case also occurred to him. What if, in spite of all appear- 
ances, she were innocent, at least of part of that which he im- 
puted to her? What if, after all, her love for him were no such 
pretence as he had yesterday been persuaded? 

Then he remembered the lies into which he had led her last 
night, and the glib smoothness with which she had uttered 
them. Oh, she was false, through and through; false to him, 
false to his cause, a shameless betrayer of both. It was no 
wonder Rutledge bade him see that her visits to her father 
ceased. For that insult he had all but struck Rutledge, had 
warned Rutledge he would require satisfaction when the 
country’s present demands upon them both should be at an 
end. There was an apology due to Rutledge, who out of 
mercy and compassion had no doubt said far less than he 
actually knew. 


342 THE CAROLINIAN 


Latimer pushed away his plate, drained the cup of hot 
coffee with its stimulating addition, and sank back in his chair 
with a sigh of utter weariness and dejection. She was in- 
stantly at his side with a pipe already filled with tobacco. 
He took it with a word of thanks mechanically uttered; and, 
not perceiving that she also brought a lighted taper, he 
groped in his pocket for his tinder-box. His fingers closed 
upon a folded piece of paper, and it was almost as if they had 
touched a coal of fire. For instantly he knew this for the 
letter Mandeville had yesterday written; the letter which 
was to prevent Carey from carrying out what had been con- 
certed between Mandeville and himself in the event of the 
former’s not returning. In the turmoil of mind that had sub- 
sequently been his own, Latimer had forgotten that letter 
until this moment. It had remained undelivered, and yet 
Carey had made no move. Why was that? 

Asking himself the question, he took the taper Myrtle 
proffered. Still asking it, he lighted his pipe, and smoked 
awhile with knitted brows. Very soon the answer, the only 
possible answer, came to him. 

Carey had not moved because Myrtle had conveyed to him 
what he himself had last evening told her: that Neild was de- 
tained as a precautionary measure, but that in reality there 
was nothing against him. Naturally, then, Carey dared not 
move, lest by doing so he should destroy Mandeville. 

That was the entire and the only possible explanation of 
Carey’s inactivity. And it was also a proof that she carried 
news from headquarters to her cursed father. Rutledge was 
more than right; Latimer’s wife was a spy in his own house- 
hold. It amounted to no less than that. 

‘Have you been out to-day, Myrtle?’ he asked her as a 
test. 

‘No, dear. The streets are so crowded, and the people so 
excited. I would rather not go amongst them.’ 

He took a pull at his pipe, and then, with his eyes upon her, 


THE TEST 343 


he asked her abruptly: ‘When did you last see your 
father?’ 

That the question startled her he must have perceived 
even had he been watching her less closely. 

‘Why do you ask?’ 

‘From interest, of course. I’m wondering how he’s taking 
the present situation.’ 

‘Oh! Why, just as you would expect him to be taking it.’ 
She seemed relieved. ‘He is confident that Charles Town 
cannot stand against the British.’ 

‘And jubilant in that confidence, I suppose?’ 

She sighed. ‘I suppose he is.’ 

‘But you haven’t said when you last saw him.’ 

“Two or three days ago.’ Her tone was casual. 

‘Then you haven’t seen him since Neild’s arrest?’ 

After a momentary pause she answered: ‘No,’ and at once 
asked: ‘Why?’ 

He shrugged. ‘I should have thought it natural that you 
should wish to reassure him about his friend; to tell him that 
the Quaker has come to no harm and is really in no danger. 
But it doesn’t matter.’ He lapsed into thought again, and 
pulled steadily at his pipe. 

She not only lied, she lied unnecessarily, from which he ar- 
gued that her conscience must be uneasy, indeed. And how 
calm she was, how brazen that hypocritical, saintly look of 
hers! 

He roused himself from the train of thought following upon 
this to answer a question she was putting him. 

‘Harry, is father right in his persuasion?’ 

‘IT hope not,’ he answered grimly. 

‘But what do you think? What do you believe? Are we 
strong enough to repel the attack? Have the reinforcements 
arrived?’ 

‘Reinforcements?’ he stared at her. ‘What reinforce- 
ments?’ He had uttered the question before the dreadful 


344 THE CAROLINIAN 


suspicion crossed his mind that she was pumping him for in- 
formation. 

‘I thought you were expecting reinforcements.’ 

‘Oh, those,’ he lied in his turn. ‘They came in yesterday. 
Last night.’ 

‘Many?’ she inquired. 

‘A thousand or so.’ 

Her face lighted. ‘You infernal hypocrite!’ he thought. 

‘That’s a great many, isn’t it?’ 

‘A goodly number.’ 

Again there was a pause, at the end of which she asked 
him: ‘Are our numbers very inferior to the British?’ 

For a moment he smoked in silence, deliberating his reply. 

‘You are asking me State secrets,’ he said at last, with a 
touch of sternness. 

‘Oh, but, Harry!’ her tone was one of gentle remonstrance. 
‘Surely you can tell me. You understand my anxiety.’ 

‘I think I do,’ he said, and she thought his tone was curi- 
ous. Then he lapsed again into his gloomy abstraction with- 
out giving her any further answer. Repelled by his manner, 
she fell silent. 

Resentment of her impudent attempt to draw information 
from him smouldered in his heart. He was within an ace of 
rising, denouncing her for a treacherous, faithless creature, 
and taking her by the throat to make an end for all time to her 
deceit and lying. Then again there came a doubt. After all, 
if she were loyal, such questions would not be unreasonable at 
such a time. If she were loyal! Inwardly he laughed in wicked 
mockery. If she were loyal! What a fool he was, after all 
that last night he had learnt beyond possibility of doubt, after 
all the lies he knew her to have told him, still even for a 
moment to suppose a possibility of her loyalty! All that re- 
mained was but to ascertain the extent to which she was dis- 
loyal, the extent to which she would betray her husband’s, 
that she might serve her lover’s, cause. 


THE TEST 345 


Into his mind floated in that evil moment the substance of 
words spoken long ago by Rutledge — words of which 
Rutledge had lately reminded him — uttered in connection 
with Gabriel Featherstone. When a person is suspected of 
spying, two aims may be served at once. That person may be 
lured to complete self-conviction, and the side for which he 
spies into defeat by false information given him under the 
cloak of a complete faith in his integrity. 

Inspiration stirred in him. Abruptly he put down his pipe, 
pushed back his chair, and rose. 

‘T must be going,’ he said. ‘There is no rest for me just yet.’ 

He took up his hat and sword from the chair where he had 
placed them. He went over to Andrew, who presented for 
his kiss a face that was smeared with honey. 

Myrtle had risen. She was agitated, on the verge of tears 
which she bravely strove to repress until he should have 
departed. To the anxiety of the time was added an anguish of 
doubt regarding Harry. Did he suspect her? His manner had 
been so odd since yesterday. And yet, since clearly he had not 
discovered Neild’s identity, what was there he should suspect? 
Relief could lie only in complete confession. Yet this con- 
fession must trouble him, and how could she trouble him at 
such a time? Thus her unselfishness, her very regard for him 
drove her at every step to tangle herself still further in this 
hateful coil. 

‘My dear!’ she said, and put her arms about his neck. 

Had Andrew been older, the gleam in those eyes of his 
father that looked at him over his mother’s shoulder, the 
mocking set of that mouth, might have given him something 
to think about. 

Harry’s hand stroked his wife’s dark hair. 

‘You are full of fears, Myrtle, I know. But you have been 
very brave. Be brave a little longer; only a little longer. 
Listen, dear. Ill tell you something ... something that you 
must forget as soon as you have heard it. It is a secret known 


346 THE CAROLINIAN 


only to myself besides Moultrie, who is responsible for the 
plan. Its success depends upon utter secrecy. If it were 
known, all would be destroyed.’ 

‘Ah, don’t tell me, then, Harry. Don’t! I can be patient.’ 

She was afraid, he thought, as, indeed, she was, but not for 
the reasons he supposed. 

‘Nay, but I want you to know. It will allay all your fears. 
We have Prevost’s army in a trap. He believes that Lincoln 
is beyond the Savannah. But the truth, the tremendous 
truth, is that Lincoln is close upon his rear. By to-morrow 
Prevost will find himself between two armies where he thinks 
to deal only with one. Let him but remain where he is for 
another twenty-four hours, and his destruction is as certain 
as that the sun will rise to-morrow. Now, my dear, a little 
more patience, and all will be well. I tell you this to give you 
peace. I shouldn’t. But...well, I know how true and 
stanch you are, and how discreet.’ 

He kissed her, and was gone, leaving her reassured and 
happy in that tremendous proof of his implicit trust and love. 


CHAPTER XIII 
THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 


T was no later than eleven o’clock that morning when 

Latimer rode out by the Town Gate into the lines, and 
there met Moultrie, returning from an inspection of the works 
at the point where he had ordered Cambray to see them 
reinforced. 

The General’s rugged, bony face wore a sly smile as he 
greeted his aide. 

‘The Council did not sit very long,’ he informed him. 
‘Though, egad, they might still be talking if I hadn’t shown 
my teeth. I told them they might save themselves from 
debating surrender, because I’d never consent to terms so 
dishonourable as those proposed by Prevost. There were 
enough of them on my side. As for the others, they knew that 
if it came to open rupture between us the town would be 
solidly behind me in my determination to defend it.’ 

‘We are to fight it out, then?’ 

‘Sooner or later. Meanwhile, at the instances of Rutledge 
we are still temporising. I’ve sent another message to say 
that, whilst I cannot possibly accept the terms proposed, I 
shall be happy to discuss less rigorous conditions if Prevost 
will appoint officers for the purpose.’ 

‘Then if less rigorous conditions were proposed .. .’ 

‘No, no. We do not surrender on any terms. Not as long 
as Iam in command. But whilst we are parleying time is 
gained.’ 

“To what purpose?’ 

Moultrie permitted himself a wink. ‘To strengthen the 
lines. We continue meanwhile our preparations, and every 
hour gained is an advantage.’ 


348 THE CAROLINIAN 


They had come abreast of the tent of Colonel Beekman, 
who was in command of the artillery. Standing by this, they 
beheld a knot of men, most of whom wore the blue uniform 
of the Continental Army, whilst a few, and of these was 
Rutledge, were in civilian dress. 

A mounted officer rode forward to halt, hat in hand, before 
Moultrie. 

‘A message, sir, has been sent in by Colonel Prevost that, 
unless work on the lines is suspended during the passage of 
the flags, he will march in his men at once.’ 

For an instant Moultrie’s face turned glum. Then he 
laughed outright. ‘They’ve seen through the trick. Faith, 
there are moments when the British almost display intelli- 
gence. My compliments, Captain Dunbar, to Colonel de 
Cambray, and will he order his engineers to cease work.’ 

Captain Dunbar saluted, and rode off upon that errand. 

Moultrie would have continued on his way, but an officer of 
foot now advanced from the tent. 

‘His excellency’s compliments, sir, and he will be glad to 
have your presence at a meeting of the Privy Council in 
General Beekman’s quarters to discuss the reply from General 
Prevost.’ 

‘It has arrived already? Egad, they lose no time.’ Moul- 
trie at once dismounted. ‘Come along, Harry. On my life, it 
should be an interesting meeting.’ 

They left a man from the trench tethering their horses to 
one of the projecting beams of the abatis. 

Within the tent they found the eight Privy Councillors al- 
ready assembled, and with them Colonel John Laurens, the 
son of Latimer’s old friend Henry Laurens. He was an ac- 
complished and enterprising young officer, widely beloved by 
the men for his conspicuous gallantry, but rather mistrusted 
by Moultrie for his almost equally conspicuous want of 
discretion. His recklessness in exceeding his orders had been 

the occasion of a severe and unnecessary loss of life in an 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 349 


engagement undertaken at Coosohatchie in the course of 
Moultrie’s retreat from the Savannah. 

Nevertheless, Moultrie was glad enough of his presence 
now, assured that here was a stout ally against the unaccount- 
able pusillanimity which Rutledge was displaying. 

The General sat down on the edge of Beekman’s camp-bed. 
Rutledge already occupied the only chair, at a square deal 
table, furnished with writing-materials. Three or four others 
had found seats of various descriptions, Gadsden being 
perched on an ammunition box, whose contents were not 
more explosive than his own enone 

Calmly Rutledge read the letter received from the British 
General in which he announced his willingness to hold the 
conference proposed by General Moultrie, and that for this 
purpose he had the honour to appoint two British officers, 
one of whom should be his own brother Colonel Prevost. 
They would be glad to receive the two commissioners General 
Moultrie should send to confer with them, and the British 
commander suggested that the conference should be held at 
some point between the British and American lines. 

Rutledge laid down the letter, and with his grave, owlish 
eyes looked round the little assembly. ‘In the absence of 
General Moultrie, I accounted it my duty to open the des- 
patch, which is addressed, of course, to him.’ He paused. No 
one said anything. Moultrie, himself, merely nodded. ‘It is 
something that General Prevost should consent to parley. It 
now remains for General Moultrie to tell us what are the 
terms that he has in mind to propose to the British, so that we 
may take a decision upon the matter.’ 

‘Terms of what?’ barked Gadsden. 

‘Terms of surrender, of course,’ said Rutledge gravely. 
‘Nothing else is in question here.’ 

There was complete silence, a silence of dismay and stupe- 
faction, which endured some moments, to be broken at last 
by one of the civilian Privy Councillors, John Edwards, a 


350 THE CAROLINIAN 


merchant of Charles Town. In a quavering voice, with tears 
in his eyes, he made his feeble protest. 

‘What! We are to give up the town at last!’ 

‘Give up the town?’ echoed Moultrie, and his hard laugh 
rang through the tent. He looked at Rutledge. ‘Will your 
excellency dare to go back and tell the people that?’ 

And Gadsden supported him. ‘They are as firm and calm 
as can be expected of men in this extremity, and ready to 
stand to the lines and defend their country.’ He looked 
Rutledge squarely, almost menacingly, between the eyes. 
‘The man who tells them we must surrender will be torn in 
pieces for a traitor.’ 

And a general growl of agreement and of hostility to 
Rutledge showed how every man present was of Gadsden’s 
mind. 

But Rutledge was as unmoved as if made of granite. 

Calm of glance and of voice he marshalled the arguments 
that already he had used that morning to the Council at its 
earlier meeting. He painted the horrors of a storm, the de- 
struction of property and of life and of more than life at the 
hands of an infuriated and excited soldiery. He reminded 
them of the women and children in there behind the lines, 
reminded them, too — although that was unnecessary — that 
he had neither wife nor child of his own in the town, so that it 
was not for his own kin that he pleaded, but for theirs. Then 
he passed on to point out to them that there is a point in war- 
fare at which the bravest may surrender without loss of 
honour, where, indeed, valour and honour demand surrender 
for the sake of others. 

‘You talk boldly of dying for your country in the trenches; 
and you conceive that to be the highest expression of courage. 
You are wrong. Death is often a welcome avenue of escape 
for men who are confronted by a terrible choice, such as that 
which confronts us now. And I tell you that it requires more 
courage for me to sit here where I sit, and say the things that 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 351 


I am saying to you, than to go out there and receive a British 
bullet which would end my own personal responsibility.’ 

His eloquence, which was seldom exerted in vain, wrought 
upon them now; the magnetism of his stern personality sub- 
dued them at last, all but Moultrie, whose nature if easy was 
shrewd and calculating, and who preferred arguments of solid 
fact to mere appeals of rhetoric. : 

‘All this is words,’ he said. ‘Wind, damme! I heard the like 
when I was put to defend Fort Sullivan. That, too, was a 
slaughter-pen into which I was leading my countrymen. But 
on that occasion, I'll remind you again, I had the support of 
John Rutledge, as strong then as he is weak now. Stoutly 
supported by him, I prevailed, and gave the British their first 
defeat in this war. What I did then, I can repeat now. I am 
neither in better case, nor in worse.’ 

Thus, at a blow, he struck out the effect of Rutledge’s 
oratory. Men believe what they desire to believe, and this they 
got now from Moultrie. There was a spontaneous outburst of 
approval, and Rutledge, sitting there like a sphinx, was 
compelled to wait until their acclamations had subsided. 

Then at last his level voice was charged with bitter con- 
tempt of them. 

‘You would do well to remember what is the British force 
and what is ours. Prevost has more than twice, indeed, nearly 
three times, our numbers.’ 

‘At Fort Sullivan,’ Moultrie answered him, ‘the odds were 
nearer ten to one.’ 

‘There is no parallel!’ Rutledge raised his voice to domi- 
nate the others. The fierce, unusual vehemence of his tone, 
instantly quelled them. ‘There your men were behind a fort 
made of soft palmetto wood, whose power of resistance was 
unsuspected by an opponent without experience of such 
material. Also fortune was on our side. You know, Moultrie, 
that but for the fact that two of the battleships fouled each 
other in the channel as they were manceuvring to attack you 


352 THE CAROLINIAN 


from the west, the day might have ended very differently. I 
do not say this to decry your valour and the valour of the 
man who fought with you on that occasion; but to remind 
you of the difference of the conditions. You must remember 
the state of our fortifications now, the paltry earthworks 
sheltering our men, which may be carried by the first vigorous 
assault. Half the defenders of the town are raw militia, who 
have yet to stand fire. Opposed to them you have an army of 
almost three times their number of seasoned soldiers, with a 
preponderance of Highlanders and Hessians and a weight of 
artillery that nothing can withstand.’ 

‘For that statement, at least, you have no warrant,’ cried 
Gadsden. ‘Only actual engagement can prove what we can 
and what we cannot withstand.’ 

‘I know. And in the end we may have to put it to the test, 
much though I desire to avoid it. I am not saying that we 
should accept any terms that Prevost may dictate. I am 
urging that our commissioners should confer with his, and 
ascertain what are the utmost terms that can be extracted. 
When we know those, we can determine what is to do. But to 
put an end to the passage of flags at this stage, and to invite 
the British to attack us before we have tested every avenue of 
compromise, is a thing I cannot countenance and to which 
nothing — nothing! — could induce me to consent.’ 

Mr. Ferguson, another of the civilian Councillors, now 
interposed. 

‘That being so, are we not wasting time in talk that is too 
general, vague, and inconclusive? Would it not be better if 
General Moultrie were to tell us what alternative to un- 
conditional surrender might be proposed by the commissioners 
we are to send?’ 

‘I, sir?’ demanded Moultrie. ‘I have no alternative to 
propose save this.’ And he brought his hand down upon the 
hilt of his sword. 

“Your excellency, then?’ said Mr. Ferguson. ‘You will 
have considered the matter, surely.’ 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 353 


‘Aye,’ said Rutledge grimly. ‘I have considered.’ 

‘What do you say, then, should be proposed?’ John Ed- 
wards asked him, and all grew very still to hear the answer. 

Rutledge paused a moment, and for a moment his eyes fell 
away from those of the assembly, which were all focussed, and 
most of them in hostility, upon himself. Then, as if command- 
ing himself, he raised his bold glance again, and slowly ex- 
pounded what he had considered. 

‘When in Georgia, and desiring to ensure the peace of that 
province, so as to leave his army free to invade South 
Carolina, General Prevost proposed to the Georgians that 
they should enter into an agreement of neutrality with him, 
leaving their ultimate fate to be determined by that of the 
other colonies at the conclusion of the war.’ 

He paused, and there followed a silence of consternation 
growing to horror and anger, in which men looked at one 
another. It was young Colonel Laurens, advancing a step 
towards the table as he did so, who voiced the general thought. 

‘My God! Are you suggesting that we should signify our 
willingness to accept any such proposal as that if he will make 
it?’ 

‘A proposal,’ Moultrie reminded the Governor, ‘which, in 
the case of Georgia, you, yourself, denounced as too ridiculous 
to merit even ah answer.’ 

‘Nevertheless,’ said Rutledge, intrepidly, in the face of 
that general resentment, ‘that is what I propose that our 
commissioners should now offer Prevost.’ 

His boldness and their own amazement struck them all 
dumb. Presently, however, Moultrie found his voice. 

‘But, — stab me!—have you weighed all that your 
proposal will entail?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘You tell us 
that you have considered the matter. Have you considered 
that such a proposal means not only the surrender of Charles 
Town and the army defending it, but the surrender also of the 
army in the South under General Lincoln?’ 


354 THE CAROLINIAN 


Rutledge’s glance faltered a moment under the stern blue 
eyes of Moultrie. But it hardened again immediately. ‘I 
have,’ he answered. 

Gadsden smacked his thigh, and bounded to his feet, shak- 
ing with anger. 

‘Then here’s my opinion on it, and on you,’ he roared. ‘In 
plain words, you’re a damned traitor, Rutledge. A damned 
traitor,’ he repeated, ‘and you deserve a rope.’ 

Rutledge sat quite still, but what little blood there was 
in his face receded from it, leaving it to the very lips of the 
hue of lead. There was a muttering about him that was 
ominous and full of menace. He rallied his strength to with- 
stand it. 

‘Hard words will not serve our need,’ he said with a calm 
he was very far from feeling. 

‘Hard words!’ young Laurens retorted. ‘No words are 
hard enough for what you propose. We are to be disloyal not 
only to ourselves, but to the sister colonies that trust us. 
Damn me, Rutledge, are you a traitor or a coward? Which? 
Charles Town is to save its skin by betraying the whole 
American cause. That is what you have asked us to assist 
you to do. You leave me wondering...’ He broke off, 
repressed, perhaps, by the Governor’s cold, unfaltering gaze. 
“No matter. I for one will have no further part in this debate. 
Iam going. Back to my post in the lines, to prepare to receive 
the attack.’ 

And with a final snort of contempt, the tall, handsome 
young colonel swung on his heel and was striding out of the 
tent, when Rutledge’s voice detained him. 

‘A moment, Colonel Laurens!’ There was something 
minatory in the tone. ‘You are at liberty to depart if you 
choose, but you will remember that the deliberations of the 
Privy Council are secret. I invited you to attend this meeting, 
partly that we might have the benefit of your military experi- 
ence, partly because your English education and English ties 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 355 


commended you to me as one of the commissioners I may 
have to appoint.’ 

‘You flatter me, sir,’ sneered Laurens. 

‘I am concerned only to warn you, sir.’ 

‘To warn me?’ 

‘To practice discretion — a quality I have not yet observed 
to be conspicuously developed in you.’ 

Remembering the affair at Coosohatchie and the deserved 
reprimand he had received, young Laurens flushed scarlet. 

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘it is a compliment I cannot return.’ 

Rutledge disregarded the taunt. Coldly, firmly he pro- 
ceeded. 

‘IT will not have you talk out there of what has happened 
here in private; should you do so, you may find the conse- 
quences more serious than on the last occasion when you 
disregarded the orders of your superior. I will have no dis- 
orders provoked in the lines or in the town.’ 

Laurens drew himself up to the full of his fine height. 

‘When this present business is over, Mr. Rutledge, I shall 
have a word to say to you in answer to that insult. For the 
moment, I am your obedient servant. You need not add the 
fear of my indiscretion to the other terrors that already dis- 
tress you.’ And he went out. 

Rutledge’s chin sank to his breast. Gadsden, who was 
warm-hearted, found his own resentment tempered by a 
certain pity. He began to talk, to reason with the Governor. 
But he was harshly interrupted at the outset. 

‘T will not enter into the arguments again. With the consent 
of the Council, or without it, I intend to go forward with the 
proposal, as I have announced.’ 

Gadsden’s pang of pity changed instantly to a rage that 
almost choked him. 

‘Why, you damned traitor ... Do you say you'll dare to do 
this thing without the consent of the Council?’ 

Rutledge stood up. His face was set and hard. ‘God help- 


356 | THE CAROLINIAN 


ing me, I will. I know what I am doing. You may call me 
traitor, or what you please. Your opinions leave me indiffer- 
ent. I have a duty to perform by the people of Charles Town 
who have invested me with sovereign powers. And that duty 
I will perform in spite of insult, abuse, and even threats.’ 
There was a dignity about the man that awed them, that 
compelled them to bridle their anger. 

Gadsden bowed. ‘You will perform your duty without my 
assistance, then,’ said he drily; and he turned to depart as 
Laurens had done. But, coming face to face with Moultrie, 
who had also risen, he halted, and clapped a hand upon the 
General’s shoulder. ‘You are in command here, remember,’ 
he sternly admonished him. 

Moultrie smiled grimly back. ‘And as long as I am in 
command,’ he answered, ‘be quite sure that Charles Town 
will not surrender. If Mr. Rutledge insists upon sending to 
the British any such proposal as he has mentioned, he sends it 
in his own name, not in mine. And should General Prevost 
accept it, he will make the discovery that any agreement made 
by him with the civil Governor of Charles Town is not binding 
upon its military commander.’ 

‘Aye, aye!’ Gadsden nodded his approval, and went out. 
He was followed by two other of the officers present, who 
saluted Moultrie almost ostentatiously as they passed him, 
but took no further notice of the Governor. 

John Edwards, with a curt announcement that he dis- 
claimed all responsibility in whatever the Governor might do, 
invited Ferguson and the third civilian present to come away. 

They obeyed him promptly enough, but not before Fer- 
guson had expressed himself. 

‘Have a care how you tread, John Rutledge, or you may 
find your feet leading you to the gallows. If you’ve sold us to 
the British ... Have a care, I say!’ And he swung round to 
follow the others who were already leaving. 

Rutledge, standing there, impassive to the end, made him 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 357 


no answer. But Latimer, who watched the Governor intently, 
saw his pale lips curl in a smile of terrible contempt. 

And then Ferguson paused, confronting Moultrie. 

‘Act according to your judgment, General,’ he enjoined, 
‘and be sure that we will support you.’ 

Three only now remained, and of these only two were 
members of the Council, and they were men upon whom 
Rutledge had particular claims — of kinship in the case of 
one, of many years of good friendship and codperation in the 
case of the other. Of these, his brother-in-law, Roger Smith, 
who commanded one of the militia regiments, was the first 
now to abandon him. He stood scowling, undecided a moment 
after the others had gone; then, shrugging aside his hesitation, 
he looked at Rutledge. 

‘I am sorry, John, that you should have taken this decision. 
I would support you if I could do so in honesty. But I can’t. 
It is better to die out there... Anything is better than dis- 
loyalty to the other provinces that trust us and depend upon 
us.’ And he, too, went out. 

Be it that he felt this desertion by his relative more keenly 
than he had felt the others, or else that the breaking point of 
his endurance had been reached, the Governor sat down heav- 
ily, and, resting his elbows on the board, took his head in his 
hands. 

Moultrie touched Latimer on the shoulder. His face was 
set; the habitual bonhomie had entirely departed out of it. 

‘Come,’ he said quietly, and turned to leave. 

Rutledge’s voice arrested him. It uttered Moultrie’s 
Christian name on a note of supplication such as Latimer him- 
self had never yet heard, and could not believe that any other 
had ever heard, from those cold lips. 

The General turned, and the two men looked at each other 
across the width of the tent. Latimer had the uncomfortable 
sensation of being an intruder. 

‘Shall I go, sir?’ he asked his general. 


358 THE CAROLINIAN 


To his surprise it was Rutledge who answered him. 

‘By no means, sir. I may need you in a moment.’ Then he 
turned his eyes slowly to Moultrie again. ‘Do you, too, be- 
lieve the damnable things in the minds of those men who have 
left me? Do you believe me capable of such a betrayal?’ 

‘Believe it?’ echoed Moultrie. ‘What else am I to believe, 
since you yourself propose the betrayal?’ He paused. Rut- 
ledge did not answer him. He just looked at him with eyes 
that were full of pain. ‘You have heard what I shall do,’ 
Moultrie resumed. ‘And you have seen enough to know that 
I shall be supported. The rest now is your affair. I wash my 
hands of it, John, as did the others.’ 

Rutledge brought one of his hands down upon the table in 
a gesture of exasperation. 

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Do as you have said. Do it, what- 
ever happens. If Prevost should accept my proposal, send 
him word that you and the army defending Charles Town 
will resist in spite of any agreement between him and your 
Governor. Let it be understood between us that you shall do 
that. But, for the present, appoint me two officers to be my 
commissioners in this conference with the British, and to bear 
them this proposal of neutrality.’ 

Moultrie drew himself up, indignantly. ‘Tl cut out my 
tongue first.’ 

Rutledge looked at him sadly. ‘And you are my friend, 
Will! You know me better, perhaps, than any living man, 
and I dare swear that not in all the years of our acquaintance 
has your trust in me ever been deceived. Yet all that is to 
count for nothing with you.’ He uttered a little laugh of bit- 
terness. 

“It’s no question of trust, John. Even if I consented, where 
should I find me two officers to carry such a message? You 
heard what Laurens and Gadsden had to say. Itis what every 
man who wears the American uniform would answer me if I 
invited him to go on such an errand.’ 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 359 


‘Roger Smith would go for one, if he had your orders. 
And there is Latimer, there, whom I have detained for this; so 
that he might hear the assurance I have just given you. Per- 
haps he would now consent to go for another?’ His eyes 
questioned Latimer as he spoke. 

Considering the long antagonism between them, Latimer 
found a certain cruel humour in the situation. It was almost 
as if Fate avenged him upon Rutledge for all the mistrust 
which he, himself, had suffered at Rutledge’s hands. There 
was something of poetic justice in the fact that Rutledge, in 
the hour of his need, distrusted by all, should stoop from his 
high office, almost humbly for once, to beg the trust of Harry 
Latimer. 

Because Latimer was gifted with some vision, he was un- 
able to believe Rutledge guilty either of cowardice or treason, 
as had been so freely and recklessly implied. To him, not only 
Rutledge’s whole life, but his very demeanour at that Coun- 
cil, gave the lie to any such charges, rendered them fantastic 
and grotesque. Perhaps his recollection of the harsh judg- 
ments Rutledge had passed upon him more than once, and 
his reflection that these had been justified by externals, made 
him now doubly wary of externals where Rutledge was con- 
cerned; determined him to judge Rutledge’s present action 
by his knowledge of the man, rather than the man from the 
appearance of this action. 

Therefore, his answer was not only prompt, but uttered 
with a deference that in all the circumstances was eloquent, 
indeed. Bareheaded he bowed. 

‘I have the honour to be at your excellency’s service.’ 

Rutledge’s stern face was suddenly softened by surprise, and 
the glance he flashed on Latimer was almost one of gratitude. 

But it was Moultrie who spoke, his tone harsh. 

‘You are at my service, sir,’ he reminded Latimer. ‘You 
will take your orders from me. And I will never order you on 

such an errand. Neither you nor Smith; nor any other.’ 


- 360 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘And yet,’ said Rutledge in a hard firm voice, ‘it must be 
done, or we perish.’ 

‘You have been answered upon that,’ Moultrie reminded 
him. 

Rutledge made a gesture of impatience, of distraction, 
with his fine hands. 

‘It is not what I meant. I scarcely know what I am saying.’ 
He passed a trembling hand over his moist and pallid brow. 
‘What I meant to say was...’ He paused and dropped his 
voice. ‘It must be done that Prevost and his army may 
perish.’ 

‘What!’ Moultrie stiffened with amazement as he rapped 
out that single word. 

With forefinger erect, Rutledge beckoned them nearer by 
a broad, repeated gesture. Resolution and despair were 
stamped on his white face. 

‘Sit down, both of you. Draw close. I have dreaded this. 
Dreaded it beyond everything. It is a secret so formidable, so 
far-reaching, that I was prepared almost for anything sooner 
than its disclosure. For if a breath of it leaks out before the 
time, this war, which may be ended to-morrow at a blow, will 
drag on and on perhaps for years.’ 

They sat still, Moultrie on the ammunition box, Latimer on 
a keg, both of them stricken by the vehemence of his almost 
whispering voice and the enormous thing that he suggested. 

‘Tf all that I have planned works out as [ have planned it, 
we shall hold Prevost here as Burgoyne was held at Sara- 
toga; and we shall burgoyne him as completely. Think what 
that would mean to-day! The British campaign in the North 
has come to nothing. If the campaign now opening in the 
South should thus, at the outset, be shattered at a blow, 
what heart for war would there be left in England?’ 

‘That is the terrible secret that I carry. That is the secret 
your mistrust, Moultrie, your insubordination, compels me 
now to disclose before you will carry out my orders, before you 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 361 


will afford me the one thing necessary for success — delay.’ 
He had spoken with bitterness; to this he added now a touch 
of contempt. ‘Why, do you imagine, have I had these flags 
coming and going? Why did I ask you to send to ask for 
terms and swallow the insult with which you met the request? 
Why did I constrain you to send yet again to propose a con- 
ference? Why? For the same reason that I am asking you 
now to send this proposal of neutrality. Delay, delay, delay! 
Time! Another twenty-four hours, that is all I ask. I am 
branded a traitor, a coward! I tread the road to the gallows, I 
am told. I am to be called to account for this later on, as 
Laurens threatened me. For what?’ He laughed softly but 
savagely. ‘God! What it is to have to handle fools! Fools, 
who think a man, whose courage and loyalty have been 
proved a score of times, can turn coward and traitor all in a 
moment. Would a coward have borne their insults as I bore 
them? Pshaw!’ He.sank together in his chair, as if worn out 
by the fury which he had suddenly unleashed. 

Moultrie began to wonder had the Governor’s mind given 
way under the strain of the last few weeks, whether these were 
not the ravings of a madman’s nightmare. 

‘The only evidence before them was that of your proposal 
itself, and of the fears you manifested,’ he answered, very 
quietly. ‘From the one and the other what could they con- 
clude but what they did. They were without this explanation 
... this half-explanation which you have given me.’ 

‘Half-explanation?’ cried Rutledge. ‘Aye, aye, you must 
have it all, all to the last drop, before you'll help me. Very 
well, you shall have it. But, I warn you, both of you, that if 
a word of it leaks out, if this thing should miscarry through 
indiscretion, your heads shall pay for it. Listen, then. Just 
now, Moultrie, you implied that in military matters I am no 
better than a fool and a muddler. You voiced the opinion of 
me which is held by every one of your thick-skulled fellow- 
soldiers. I knew what was thought of me, and I have allowed 


362 THE CAROLINIAN 


it to be thought. I perfectly understood your “‘ne sutor ultra 
crepidam.”’ Oh, yes! If I had kept to the management of 
civil affairs, and left General Lincoln to control the army of 
the South, he would not now be idling in Georgia, and we 
should not now be in this position. His army would be with 
us here, and, daunted by superior forces, Prevost would have 
been compelled to hold back from Charles Town, would never 
have attempted its reduction. Very true! Very true! But 
Lincoln is not idling in Georgia. He is not in Georgia at all, 
as you and as Prevost, to his undoing, suppose him. He 
should be now between Coosohatchie and the Ashley with all 
his forces.’ 

To Moultrie this was a blow between the eyes. 

‘God of Heaven!’ he cried. ‘How do you know that?’ 

‘How?’ The dark eyes gleamed. ‘Because that is what 
was concerted between him and me at Orangeburg. His expe- 
dition into Georgia was a feint to lure Prevost to destruction. 
His orders were to march down the right bank of the Savan- 
nah, as if to capture the defenceless capital of Georgia, to 
reap an easy, empty victory. But at Purysburg he was to 
cross again, and follow Prevost, so as to keep within a two 
days’ march of him. Before to-morrow dawns he will be here, 
and Prevost will be burgoyned. Now do you understand at 
last?’ 

Moultrie stared at him with gaping eyes and fallen jaw. 
It was all so simple, so obvious, now that he was told; and it 
had been left for a civilian mind to evolve this master-stroke 
of strategy. 

‘And —and Prevost doesn’t suspect?’ was all that he 
could ask at last. 

“Would he be where he is if he did?’ 

‘My God!’ 

“Now you begin to see why I have played for time. If I had 
not made you send that flag at three o’clock this morning, the 
bombardment would have opened at dawn. By this time, 


: 


THE STRATEGY OF RUTLEDGE 363 


Charles Town would be half in ruins. Perhaps the attack 
would have been delivered, and, considering their numbers, 
they might very well have carried the place by now. Then 
Lincoln would have come too late. Possibly, once masters of 
the town, the British could have held the place against him, 
as we could never hold it against them. But what matters 
more is that the chance to end this war at a blow would have 
been lost. 

‘That is why, Moultrie, you must support me now. This 
parley must be held and this proposal laid before them. It is 
not likely that Prevost will accept it, believing that he has us 
at a disadvantage. But neither will he peremptorily dismiss it. 
It is too weighty for that, and it demands some consideration. 
While they are considering, ruin creeps upon them.’ 

Moultrie got up. ‘ John, humbly I beg your pardon, and so 
shall the others, every one of them when all is known.’ 

Rutledge dismissed the notion by a contemptuous wave of 
the hand. ‘That is of no importance. While I am writing my 
letter here, find Roger Smith and give him your orders. Say 
that I have satisfied you that it is a wise measure.’ 

‘And if he refuses?’ 

‘He will not refuse. I know Roger. For our other commis- 
sioner we have Latimer here...’ He broke off. ‘What ails 
you, man?’ 

For now that his eyes fell upon Latimer for the first time 
since his disclosure, he beheld him pale to the lips, leaning 
back against a tent pole with every appearance of utter 
exhaustion. 

Fear galvanized him into collecting himself under that 
question and that sharp scrutiny. 

‘It is nothing, sir,’ he muttered. ‘I...I am a little faint.’ 

Moultrie was instantly at his side, tenderly solicitous. «» 

‘Poor lad! He is worn out. He has hardly rested in these 
last two days and nights.’ 

‘Alas! That is the case of most of us. He must command 


364 THE CAROLINIAN 


himself for this. You may rest all you please on your return, 
Major. General Moultrie will have to give you leave.’ 

Moultrie meanwhile had produced from his pocket a flask 
of grog. 

‘Take a pull,’ he commanded peremptorily. 

Latimer obeyed him, and the spirit steadied him. But it 
could not calm the torture of his mind, at the thought of the 
test to which he had submitted Myrtle. 

If she were faithless indeed, then all was lost, unless he 
could at once return and take his measures to prevent her 
from conveying to her father the lie he had told her, the lie 
which by cruellest irony was now disclosed to be the truth. 
If news of it were to reach Prevost, the British general must 
send his scouts afield for confirmation, and then... 

Latimer groaned aloud. ‘I...I am not well. I am afraid 
I cannot go.’ 

‘Command yourself!’ Rutledge spoke sternly. ‘You under- 
stand that I cannot further publish this thing. Go, you must, 
dead or alive. Your country demands it.’ 

‘And then my rank,’ Latimer faltered. ‘For such a con- 
ference as that none less than a colonel should be sent .. .’ 

‘Tf that is all, you shall be made a colonel on the spot. But 
go you must. Make up your mind to it, and it will become 
possible. Come, Latimer!’ He turned to Moultrie again. 
‘Send for Roger at once.’ 

He took up a pen, dipped it, and began to write as Moultrie 
went out. 

Latimer sat there in the silent tent within which there was 
no sound beyond the scratching of Rutledge’s quill. From 
outside came an occasional order, the tramp of feet of march- 
ing men, the thud of hooves, and at moments snatches of 
song from the men in the trenches. Latimer heard nothing 
of ali this. His body only sat there, the legs straight and stiff 
before it, the chin sunken into his black military cravat, stark 
horror in his soul. 


CHAPTER XIV 
THE ARREST 


T would be a little before two o’clock in the afternoon when 
Colonel Smith and Major Latimer returned from the con- 

ference held within a half-mile of the lines. They presented 
their report to Rutledge in Beekman’s tent, where since their 
going he had sat despatching business. 

Colonel Smith announced that Colonel Prevost, whilst 
holding out no hope that the proposal of neutrality would be 
accepted, yet considered it much too important to be dealt 
with out of hand, and must refer it to his brother the General. 
The British commander’s decision would be made known to 
Governor Rutledge at the earliest moment. 

Rutledge smiled a little, well content. Whenever the reply 
came now, his object was served; the delay necessary to the 
success of his plan was obtained. If, as he supposed, the 
British refused the proposal, they must intimate it and send 
with it yet another demand for surrender. In this way the 
remainder of the afternoon would be spent, with the result 
that it was unlikely that they would now open the attack 
before dawn to-morrow. And under cover of night Lincoln 
would make the last stage of his advance, which should bring 
him upon the enemy’s rear before daybreak. 

Gravely Rutledge thanked and dismissed the officers, with 
a kindly word for the obviously exhausted Latimer to whom 
he conceded leave to go home and rest until his General 
should send for him again. 

There was a throng outside the tent, attracted by the news 
of the return of the commissioners; and several, amongst 
whom were Gadsden and Laurens, beset the two officers with 
- questions as they came forth. Latimer wasted some little 


366 THE CAROLINIAN 


time in answering them, then at last got to horse, and rode 
home. 

When, jaded, worn, and sick at heart with anxiety and fear, 
he staggered into the dining-room, he found Myrtle there in 
walking-dress and wide-brimmed straw hat with Tom Izard, 
who had been relieved from his duties in the lines an hour ago, 
and was voraciously appeasing a hearty appetite. Julius, who 
was waiting upon him, made haste to set a chair for his mas- 
ter, considering him with a look of affectionate concern. 

Covered with grime and dust, his face haggard and drawn, 
his eyes blood-injected and glazed, Latimer dropped into 
the chair, a limp, sagging body that seemed half-bereft of 
life. 

Myrtle came to put an arm about his shoulder. 

‘Harry, my dear!’ In her concern for him she forgot the 
situation of the town. ‘You are worn out! You must go to 
bed at once.’ 

‘Presently, presently.’ His speech was thick and slurred. 
‘I must have food, first.’ It was more or less of a subterfuge; 
for food was the last thing in his thoughts. 

He ate, nevertheless, what was placed before him by Julius, 
ate absently without knowing what. And he drank copiously 
of the fine claret Julius poured for him. And all the while 
Myrtle stood there beside him in tenderest solicitude to an- 
ticipate his slightest possible wish. 

Presently, whilst still eating, he dismissed Julius from the 
room, then raised his dull eyes to look at Myrtle. 

‘You have been out, I see.’ 

‘Yes,’ she answered, after the slightest hesitation. 

‘Where did you go?’ 

Her glance avoided his stare. ‘I went to see father, this 
morning.’ And at once she added the explanation. ‘I went to 
tell him about Mr. Neild, in case he should be anxious, as you 
suggested.’ 

‘Ah!’ Here again she was lying to him, for, as he was per- 


THE ARREST 367 


suaded, she had already told her father yesterday of this. So 
that, whatever the business that had taken her to-day, it was 
other than she represented it. He turned cold at the thought 
of what it really might be. He rose abruptly, and seized her 
fiercely by the shoulders. ‘Myrtle, answer me truthfully, in 
God’s name: Did you tell him anything else? Did you say a 
word to him of what I told you this morning?’ 

‘Harry! Are you mad?’ 

‘Answer me! And answer truthfully for once. Did you?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

Flushed and indignant, she struggled in that grip of his. 
But he held her firmly despite his weariness. 

‘I mean that you have lied to me again and again in the 
last twenty-four hours. You have answered with falsehoods 
my every question.’ She turned white under the accusation. 
‘But if you value my life and your own at a straw — if you 
have any thought for Andrew, and what may become of him 
— tell me now the truth about this. What did you say to 
your father to-day?’ 

She was panic-stricken by his knowledge. Yet, before seek- 
ing to probe the extent of it, before uttering any of the terri- 
fied questions that rose to her lips, she answered him as he 
demanded. 

‘Nothing that I could not have said in your presence.’ And 
after a pause, she added passionately. ‘That is the truth, 
Harry. I swear it. The rest ... I can explain.’ 

‘Not now, not now.’ He let her go, and turned to Tom, 
who was looking on with a startled countenance, uncomfort- 
able at witnessing a scene of this character. He controlled 
himself by an effort. 

‘Tom,’ he said quietly, ‘I need your assistance on an urgent 
matter. May I count upon you?’ 

‘Of course.’ Tom was on his feet at once. 

‘Come, then.’ He beckoned him, and moved towards the 
door. 


368 THE CAROLINIAN 


Myrtle attempted to delay him. ‘Harry! Harry!’ She 
was distraught. 

Firmly he put her aside. ‘Not now. Later on.’ He pulled 
the door open. ‘Come, Tom.’ 

They went out into the hall. ‘Wait for me a moment, 
Tom,’ Harry requested him, and turned to go upstairs. 

Deeply intrigued and uneasy, Tom paced the length of the 
hall, where the two orderlies were on duty. 

Presently Harry came downstairs again carrying a ma- 
hogany case under his arm. Myrtle, overwhelmed, almost 
stunned by what Harry had said, and wondering distractedly 
how much he really knew, and how she could ever make 
him understand the motives that had driven her along that 
abominated path of falsehood, sat limp and stricken in the 
dining-room where they had left her, daring to make no 
attempt to follow him. 

Tom’s jaw dropped at sight of the mahogany case. 

‘Stab me! What the devil’s afoot?’ 

‘I have something to do which I should have done yester- 
day if I had had my wits about me. God send it may not be 
too late now!’ He looked at Tom, and an odd smile broke on 
his white face. ‘It’s very opportune your being here, Tom. 
‘You were a witness of the first shot in the duel that is to 
be finished to-day. I desire you to witness now the end of 
ity 

‘My God, Harry!’ he cried, his face blank with amazement. 
And he added: ‘Carey?’ 

Latimer nodded. ‘Yes, Carey, that black-hearted monster. 
T owe him a shot at ten paces. I am going to discharge the 
debt. I pray Imay bein time. But if I am too late to prevent 
him from betraying us, at least I shall not be too late to pun- 
ish, and to rob him of the chance of gloating over his evil 
work.’ 

‘But, Harry... your father-in-law...!’ Tom was be- 
wildered and horrified. 


THE ARREST 369 


‘That’s why, Tom. Ask no questions now. I'll tell you all 
afterwards, and you shall give me reason. On my honour you 
shall. Take my word for that, if you’re my friend, and ask 
no more questions. But come and see the thing done.’ 

‘If you put it so,’ said Tom gloomily, and shrugged a re- 
luctant consent. 

‘Thank you, Tom. Come along. I shall require another 
witness to make all correct.’ He had moved forward, and was 
now abreast of the orderlies, who came swiftly to attention. 
‘Is Mr. Middleton in the office?’ he asked, and, upon receiv- 
ing an affirmative answer, he threw open the door on his right, 
and called the lieutenant. 

Middleton came out very quickly. ‘You’re back, sir? I 
didn’t know, or I would have come at once. Something has 
happened, that I think you should know.’ He paused, hesi- 
tating, obviously a little uncomfortable. 

‘Yes?’ demanded Harry, impatiently. ‘What is it?’ 

‘Sir Andrew Carey, sir...’ 

‘What about him?’ 

‘I arrested him to-day on a warrant of the Governor’s.’ 

Tom in the background sent up a prayer of thanks to 
Heaven. Latimer stood quite still, not knowing yet whether 
this should suffice to make the secret safe, and not daring to 
hope. 

‘On what charge?’ he asked presently. 

‘No charge, sir. He is detained as a precautionary measure. 
He was one of several, half a dozen or so, who have been so 
detained by the Governor’s orders.’ 

Latimer considered. So that was all. Rutledge was yielding 
to his fears of information reaching the enemy which might 
yet put him on his guard, and he was detaining all those 
whom he had reason to know attached to the British cause. 
In fear lest the answer should dash his sudden hopes, he 
almost hesitated to put the next question. 

‘At what time did you arrest him?’ 


370 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘At noon precisely. A messenger rode in from the lines with 
the warrant and the list of persons covered by it.’ 

Latimer understood the motives that had impelled Rut- 
ledge to take that step, but, unfortunately, he had taken it an 
hour and a half after he, himself, had told Myrtle his cock- 
and-bull story which by an incredible irony turned out to be 
the truth. The arrest had been made too late, he feared. And 
yet there was a chance that it might be otherwise. 

‘Does Mrs. Latimer know this?’ he asked. 

‘T don’t think so, sir. I haven’t told her.’ 

Latimer took his chin in his hand, and the subaltern ob- 
served that hand to tremble. ‘Mrs. Latimer visited her father 
to-day,’ he said. ‘Do you know whether she visited him long 
before he was arrested? Did you see her come or go?’ 

‘I saw both, sir. Mrs. Latimer left here just half an hour 
before I did. I met her returning, as I turned into Tradd 
Street with my men on my way to arrest Sir Andrew.’ 

Latimer’s face perceptibly lighted. ‘So that you arrested 
him almost immediately after Mrs. Latimer left him?’ 

‘Within ten minutes of her leaving, certainly.’ 

“Thank you, Middleton,’ said Latimer in dismissal, and the 
subaltern went back to the work which the Major’s summons 
had interrupted. Latimer stood there in thought a moment 
after he had gone. Hope began to revive within him. The 
arrest must have been made in time. It was impossible that 
in those ten minutes Carey could have communicated with 
any one. Rutledge’s secret was safe from betrayal. But, on 
the other hand, he would never know now the full extent of 
his wife’s duplicity; to question her would be worse than futile. 
Considering the lies she had already told him, he could not 
now believe a word she said. 

Tom Izard stood helplessly at hand, thankful that circum- 
stances should have prevented Harry from carrying out his 
dreadful purpose. Harry looked at him, and suddenly laughed 
aloud. 


THE ARREST 371 


“That second shot will have to wait,’ he said. 
He turned and went reeling down the hall and up the stairs, 
_ the sinister mahogany box tucked under his arm, a man in 
the last stage of exhaustion, craving nothing but sleep now 
that the only spur to continued action had been withdrawn. 
Without so much as removing his boots, which were caked 
with mud and white with dust, he flung himself on his bed, and 
was asleep almost before his body had come to rest upon it. 


CHAPTER XV 
THE AWAKENING 


ROM somewhere about four o’clock on the afternoon 
of that Wednesday, and throughout a night in which 
scarcely an eye in Charles Town was closed in slumber, Harry 
Latimer lay in a lethargic sleep until peep of day on Thursday. 
Then, as the first faint light of dawn made a grey oblong 
patch of the window of the room he occupied, he sat up sud- 
denly, wide-awake as if summoned, as summoned, indeed, he 
had been by his sleepless inner consciousness. 

Before his eyes had considered that grey patch of window, 
he knew that it was the hour of dawn, the hour in which Pre- 
vost’s army, realizing itself caught between two fires, must 
lay down its arms and surrender, unless... 

There was no unless. That sudden dread that came to 
haunt him was but the ghost of an earlier dread, a dread of 
yesterday which he had proved unfounded before committing 
himself to the sleep whereof he stood so desperately in need. 

It was the hour: the hour of victory; the hour, perhaps, 
which should mean the deliverance of his country. 

Strange how still it was. But at any moment now the guns 
would be shattering this stillness, unless, indeed, Prevost 
should decide to surrender without ever a shot fired. 

He swung his feet to the ground, making the discovery that 
whilst he had slept some one had removed his boots, his sword 
and belt, and eased his clothing. 

‘Are you awake at last, Harry?’ 

It was Myrtle’s voice, the voice he loved and hated. She 
had kept vigil beside him, and rose now, a shadow faintly 
visible against the gloom. 

‘It is the dawn,’ he answered, uttering the dominant 


THE AWAKENING 373 


thought in his mind, the thought that had pierced the 
lethargy of his senses to arouse him. ‘It is the hour. My 
place is in the lines. I must be in at the death. My boots! 
Where are my boots?’ 

He was groping for them even as he spoke. He found 
them, and was already pulling them on when she kindled a 
light. 

He stood up, buckling on his sword, his eyes questing for 
his hat, which presently he perceived and snatched up from 
the chair on which it lay. 

She asked him questions, which he scarcely heeded. Did he 
think that all would be well, that all would fall out as he had 
told her yesterday? He answered her mechanically, and was 
going without another word. 

‘Harry,’ she called to him. He turned, and saw her in the 
soft candle-light, her face sad, her eyes red from weeping. 
Even so the beauty of her touched him, moved him to pity 
for her and pity for himself. ‘When you come back I shall 
have something to tell you, something I could not, dared not 
tell you before.’ She paused, faltering. He made no answer, 
but stood there looking at her with eyes that to her were in- 
scrutable. “You have reason to think badly of me, Harry. I 
have been a fool and a coward. But nothing more than that. 
Be sure I have been nothing more than that. When you 
come back, I will tell you all. All!’ 

‘Ah!’ He drew a breath. She could tell him nothing that 
he did not know. There was a test, then, after all. The test 
should be the measure of her frankness later. ‘Very well,’ he 
said and so departed. 

There were lights in the hall below, and orderlies drowsily 
on duty. The officer in charge was Ensign Shubrick, who 
informed him, whilst his horse was being fetched, that the 
General had been in the lines all night, and was there still. 

‘It is expected that the British will attack at daybreak,’ the 
officer concluded. 


374 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘I know, I know,’ said Harry, and laughed, which the 
officer thought odd. 

The light was growing rapidly, and, when he came out into 
the chill of the garden, objects were clearly visible and al- 
ready beginning to assume colour. Faint lines of vermilion 
streaked the sky to the east over the sea. 

Latimer mounted and rode out into the street, in which he 
discovered as much traffic and movement as was normally to 
be found there at noon. It had been thus all through that 
night of suspense. The restless, anxious townsfolk had roamed 
the streets, coming and going towards the lines, eagerly quest- 
ing for news of what was happening and what likely to happen 
presently. 

He rode up Broad Street, past Saint Michael’s and the 
State House, and then away to the right, up King Street. As 
he came level with Moores Street, he became conscious of loud 
sounds of cheering among the people who made a dense throng 
ahead towards the Town Gate. Suddenly the throng broke, 
and men came racing towards him shouting wildly in a frenzy 
of excitement that was obviously joyous. 

They were abreast of him, a scattered crowd of runners, 
young and old, military and civilian, laughing and shouting 
as they ran. Along the street, windows were being thrown up, 
and doors opened to emit half-clad men and women who came 
in fear and trembling to seek the reason of this sudden uproar. 

Latimer checked a man, a wheelwright of his acquaintance 
named Sampson, to ask him what had happened. 

‘Where ha’ you been, Major?’ the fellow crowed. ‘The 
British be going. Going! They be in full retreat. Ferrying 
theirselves like mad over the Ashley as if the devil were after 
them. Charles Town’s rid o’ them! Charles Town’s free. 
Free!’ He roared it all at the top of his voice that others 
besides Latimer might hear him, and, without waiting for 
questions, sped on with the other bearers of glad tidings. 

Latimer, in prey to mingled fear and hope, went on at the 


THE AWAKENING 375 


gallop, scattering the people to right and left in his reckless 
dash for the Town Gate. 

Long before he reached it, his ears were assailed by a ter- 
rific roar from the lines. It was the cheering of the men in the 
trenches venting their relief at the end of the strain of their 
long anxious vigil. 

The noise of it was still reverberating along the lines when 
he mounted the abatis to join the crowd of officers clustered 
there about the guns, and to look for himself in the direction 
in which all were gazing. 

At that moment the rising sun sent its first low shafts of 
light across the dreary landscape. It struck upon scarlet coats, 
and flashed back from arms and accoutrements, away over on 
James Island across the Ashley River. And on the near side 
by the ferry there were no more than the last detachments of 
the rear-guard, which yesterday had been the van, waiting to 
cross in the wake of the rest of that fast retreating army. 

Latimer’s heart sank like a stone through water. There 
could be one only explanation to this sudden flight. The 
British had been warned in time, and at the eleventh hour 
they were escaping from the trap. They had been warned! 
Warned! The word boomed, like the note of some gigantic 
gong, through his tortured brain. And his senses, suddenly 
sharpened, showed him something that yesterday in his sleep- 
iness he had overlooked. Not ten minutes only, as he had so 
fondly imagined, had elapsed between the time of Myrtle’s 
going to her father and Sir Andrew’s arrest; but forty minutes. 
He had left out of account the half-hour that she had been 
with him. 

With those deafening cheers still ringing in his ears, the 
cheers of men who beheld here only deliverance, knowing 
nothing of what else should have been added to it, Latimer 
descended from the abatis and regained his horse. Several 
spoke to him, but he answered none. He mounted, drove home 
his spurs, and felt the infuriated beast bound forward under 


376 THE CAROLINIAN 


him. Back ata breakneck gallop he went by the road he had 
come. There was one only thing remaining to do. In justice 
and in mercy he must do it, and do it quickly before they ar- 
rested him, as arrest him they certainly would. He remem- 
bered what Rutledge had said yesterday on the score of what 
must happen to Moultrie or himself should the secret of Lin- 
coln’s approach leak out prematurely to wreck the plan, the 
secret which, until constrained to it by sheer necessity, Rut- 
ledge had hugged so jealously to his soul. 

In the garden, as he flung down from his foam-flecked horse, 
he found Tom, who had ridden in but a moment ahead of him 
with the joyous news. And Tom was barring his way, his 
face alight, babbling idiocies of thanksgiving for the town’s 
safety. 

Latimer thrust him aside, and sprang into the house. Star- 
tled by his manner and the evil look in his face, Tom followed 
him after a moment’s pause of sheer amazement. 

‘Where is your mistress?’ Latimer demanded of Julius who 
was amongst a crowd of servants in the hall; and upon being 
answered that she was in her room, he went up the stairs 
two at a time. 

As he burst in upon her, she turned from the open window 
by which she was standing. His well-known step had warned 
her a second earlier of his approach, and there was an eager- 
ness in her sweet face as she turned to greet him now, an 
eagerness which at once gave place to terror at sight of him. 
For rage and grief had distorted his countenance into an evil 
mask. 

A hand on her bosom to repress its sudden heave, and slim 
and sweet she stood there, her face as grey as the grey morn- 
ing gown she wore. 

‘You traitress!’ he said. ‘You soft, white, lovely, treach- 
erous thing. I told you that secret yesterday to test you. You 
had lied to me so much, you had betrayed so much, and yet, 

still doubting like a fool, I must plumb the very depths of 


THE AWAKENING 377 


your treachery. And I have plumbed them, by God! You 
have ruined us. You have saved your British friends, the 
people of your father, and your lover, and you have doomed 
me to dishonour and a firing-party.’ He pulled a pistol from 
his breast. ‘If you survive, you share my fate, for clearly I 
could have betrayed this thing, this tremendous thing, only 
through you. In mercy, then, as much as in justice, I must 
spare you that!’ 

She stood white and tense, her eyes dilating as she watched 
him slowly raise the pistol. And then, through the wall from 
the adjoining room to which his raised vehement voice had 
penetrated, came a glad, hailing shout: 

‘Daddy Harry! Daddy Harry!’ 

It gave him pause. His eyes dilated in horror. A sob broke 
from his lips. ‘Oh, God! The child!’ He lowered the pistol. 
‘What is to become of him?’ 

And then a strong hand gripped his shoulder from behind, 
and another clutched his wrist. The pistol was wrenched 
from his grasp. He wheeled in speechless fury, and found 
himself face to face with Tom Izard. 

The two men stared long at each other in utter silence. 
The situation was one that baffled words. Beyond them in 
the room stood Myrtle, her face in her hands, and for a mo- 
ment the sound of her sobbing came to mingle with the joy- 
ous crowing of the child in the next room and the glad cheer- 
ing of the townsfolk moving along Broad Street. Then came 
another sound from immediately below; brisk steps in the hall, 
accompanied by the jingle of spurs and the clank of swords, 
and a voice, the voice of General Moultrie, raised and sharp 
in tone, issuing an order. 

‘My God, Tom, you don’t know what you’ve done!’ cried 
Harry in bitter reproach. 

Steps were ascending the stairs. 

‘I know what I’ve saved you from doing,’ said Tom gravely. 
‘You are surely mad, Harry!’ 


378 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Am I? Ask her. Ask Myrtle if she has any cause to thank 
you.’ 

‘What!’ Tom’s voice was suddenly hoarse. 

Shubrick appeared, halted, and came to attention. 

“The General’s compliments, sir, and he will be glad if you 
will step below at once.’ 

Latimer nodded wearily, and Shubrick departed. A mo- 
ment Latimer stood there looking back at his wife, whose 
sobbing had suddenly ceased, whose soul had been gripped by 
a terror even greater than before. Then he smiled wistfully, 
broken-heartedly, into the eyes of Tom Izard. 

‘Look after her, Tom,’ he said, and went downstairs in an- 
swer to that summons. The voice of his son, calling him in 


tones that were growing peremptory, followed him down into 
the hall. 


CHAPTER XVI 
THE INQUIRY 


HUBRICK was waiting for him by the door of the library, 
and opened it for him when he arrived. 

He went in to find four men assembled there: Moultrie, 
Gadsden, Colonel John Laurens, and Governor Rutledge. All 
four faces were of a preternatural gravity. The three soldiers 
were old friends of his, men by whom he had been honoured 
and esteemed. Two of them had been his father’s friends. 
Rutledge was a man whose temperament had persistently 
jarred his own, between whom and himself there had ever 
been a certain indefinable hostility. Yet, behind this, each 
held the other in certain respect, and until this moment 
neither could have reproached the other with anything that 
touched his honour. 

These four, he perceived at once, were gathered there to 
judge him, to hold the brief, more or less informal, prelimi- 
nary inquiry, which must prelude the court-martial before 
which he would presently have to answer — unless he could 
now satisfy them that he was clear of the guilt they were 
already imputing to him. 

Rutledge was, naturally enough, the first to address him. 
And whilst he could well imagine the inward rage consuming 
the Governor’s heart to see the shipwreck of the plan which 
he had cherished, to see lost through treachery a chance not 
likely to recur, yet never had he known Rutledge outwardly 
more cold, self-contained, and correctly formal than he was 
now. 

‘I told you yesterday, Major Latimer, when I was con- 
strained against my judgment and my will to impart to you 
the plan of campaign I had concerted with General Lin- 
coln, that it would go very hard with you or with General 


380 THE CAROLINIAN 


Moultrie — the only two in Charles Town who then knew 
the secret besides myself — if this thing should be prema- 
turely divulged. The situation that I dreaded has arisen. 
Warned in time, the British have escaped the trap; and the 
consequence to our unfortunate country must mean a pro- 
longation of the war for months or perhaps years with all the 
uncertainty, misery, and horrors attending it. That warning 
must have reached them either from General Moultrie or 
yourself.’ 

‘Is it quite impossible that General Prevost’s own scouts 
should have perceived the approach of General Lincoln?’ 
asked Latimer, and the calm of his own voice surprised him 
and gave him confidence. He had come to this ordeal in ter- 
ror. Now that he was faced with the necessity to answer 
questions, the terror fell from him, he recovered his mastery of 
himself, and his wits grew keen and sharp. 

‘It is not impossible,’ said Rutledge. ‘But in all the cir- 
cumstances highly improbable, and in this instance it is not 
what happened. This we know. The British had with them 
a score or so of Continental prisoners, whom in their precipi- 
tate retreat they abandoned. These men I have examined, 
and they positively assure me that at one o’clock this morn- 
ing the British camp was aroused from sleep as a consequence 
of the arrival of a messenger for General Prevost with news of 
what was preparing for him. The matter was freely discussed 
in the British camp, and these men overheard it and were 
themselves mocked with it. The British began to break camp 
immediately after the arrival of that messenger.’ 

There was a tap at the door, and Shubrick appeared. 

‘Mrs. Latimer, sir, begs insistently to be allowed a word 
with your excellency.’ 

‘Desire Mrs. Latimer to wait a moment. We may require 
her presently.’ 

Shubrick retired, whilst Latimer breathed a prayer of 
thanks. His aim now, his only aim, at all costs, was to spare 


THE INQUIRY 381 


her, to save her, for the sake of the boy. His heart was sud- 
denly moved to an infinite pity. Standing as he believed him- 
self to stand upon the brink of eternity — for that this could 
end other than in a bandage and a firing-party he had little 
hope — the things of this world by which, in common with 
other men, he had set such store whilst life was strong within 
him, shrank now to proportions more in relation with that 
eternity upon which he was about to embark. He was given 
the acute, all-embracing mental vision of men in extremity, 
the knowledge which, all-knowing, is all-forgiving. In the light 
of this he beheld Myrtle no longer as the traitress he had 
dubbed her, the false, deceiving wife who at once betrayed 
himself and his cause. Rather did he behold her as a poor, 
weak, human soul in the grip of forces against which it had 
not the strength to prevail. She had loved Mandeville. There 
was, no doubt, much in Mandeville to compel a woman’s love. 
Her first mistake had lain in not being true to herself in 
that emotion. But this mistake had been a mistake of pity. 
Nobly she had sought to sacrifice the desire of her life to loy- 
alty to the friend of her childhood and to the troth she had 
plighted him before she had come to fuller knowledge of her- 
self. All had gone well until Mandeville had appeared in her 
life once more. That, and the filial piety which likewise for his 
own sake she had immolated, had proved too strong for her. 
And to this was yet to be added the faith of toryism in which 
she had been reared. All these made up forces against which 
she could not struggle. 

That now was his view of her. Hence, this infinite, loving 
pity — such a pity as that which he was persuaded had in- 
duced her to marry him that she might save his threatened 
life — swayed him to save her for her own sake and for the 
sake of their child who must otherwise be left without a pro- 
tector in this world. His one dread was lest under examina- 
tion she should betray herself before he could have made her 
safe. 


382 THE CAROLINIAN 


As Shubrick closed the door, Rutledge again addressed 
him. 

‘It lies, you see, between yourself and General Moultrie. 
You will not, I suppose, wish to suggest that he may have 
been our betrayer.’ 

‘That I certainly do not.’ 

Rutledge inclined his head. ‘Colonel Laurens,’ he said 
significantly, and the tall, youthful colonel advanced, grave 
and sad of face. 

‘Your sword, Major Latimer.’ 

But there Moultrie intervened. ‘No, no! You go too fast 
altogether. You take too much for granted. Surely there isno 
need to deprive him of his sword until his guilt is really es- 
tablished.’ 

‘Oddslife!’ said Gadsden. ‘Can it be more fully established 
than it is already? It’s either Latimer or yourself, Moultrie. 
And to suppose that it is you would be as ridiculous as to sup- 
pose that it was Rutledge.’ 

Latimer had already unbuckled his sword. He delivered it 
to Laurens, who went to place it on the library table. 

Moultrie, with an ill-tempered shrug, pulled up a chair and 
sat down beside this same table. Gadsden followed his 
example. Both had been in the lines all night, and both were 
tired. Laurens remained standing, but moved away a little 
into the background. Rutledge set himself to pace the room 
between Latimer and the others. 

‘The assumption is, Major Latimer, that you imparted the 
news to your wife. We are persuaded that you are guilty of 
no worse betrayal than that. You desired, very possibly, and 
perhaps not unnaturally, to allay her anxieties. We sympa- 
thize with that as far as we are able, but it is not a plea that 
will greatly avail you before a court-martial.’ 

‘T realize it, sir. But what is the further assumption? Fora 
further assumption there must be. To whom did my wife 
betray this secret in her turn?’ 


THE INQUIRY 383 


‘To her father, whose attachment to the British cause is 
scandalously notorious.’ 

Latimer smiled. ‘That, sir, is very easily disproved. It is 
within your excellency’s own knowledge and General Moul- 
trie’s that, after you imparted this secret to me, I did not 
leave the lines until I set out with Colonel Smith to meet the 
British commissioners. I did not return until just before two 
o’clock in the afternoon, and from the time that you told me 
of Lincoln’s advance I did not see my wife until then — over 
two hours after her father had been arrested by your orders.’ 

‘What’s that?’ cried Moultrie. 

Latimer repeated his words, whilst Rutledge stroked his 
chin thoughtfully, obviously puzzled. 

‘How do you know the hour of Sir Andrew Carey’s arrest?’ 
Gadsden asked him suspiciously. 

‘From Middleton, the officer who affected it. He was on 
duty here in the afternoon, and it was natural that he should 
tell me this.’ 

Rutledge, still very thoughtful, rang the bell, informed 
himself from Shubrick that Mr. Middleton was on the 
premises, and desired him to be called. 

‘li Middleton confirms him, that knocks the bottom out of 
the charge, John,’ said Moultrie. 

Rutledge made no reply. Middleton came, and did con- 
firm Major Latimer’s statement. He had arrested Sir Andrew 
Carey at noon precisely within ten minutes of receiving the 
Governor’s order. 

‘IT congratulate you on your promptitude, Mr. Middleton,’ 
said the Governor. ‘You may go, sir, unless...’ He turned 
to the others. ‘Perhaps you would like to question him.’ 

Laurens took advantage of the occasion. 

‘When you arrested Sir Andrew Carey, how was he 
occupied?’ 

‘He was writing — just finishing a letter, or what looked 
like a letter.’ 


384 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Did you seize it?’ Rutledge asked him sharply. 

‘Certainly, sir. ‘That and his writing-case. They are in the 
General’s office.’ 

Rutledge smiled a little. ‘Mr. Middleton, I congratulate 
you on your thoroughness. Please fetch me this writing-case. 
You may sit down, Major Latimer, if you choose.’ 

Latimer availed himself of the privilege, and waited in fear 
for the production of the writing-case. 

It was brought and opened, and Middleton indicated the 
letter upon which Sir Andrew had been engaged when ar- 
rested. Rutledge thanked him, dismissed him, and went to 
sit down at the table, between Gadsden and Moultrie, with 
the case before him, the particular letter in his hand. 

‘It is in cipher, of course,’ he said, ‘which at once marks its 
character.’ 

‘However that may be, sir,’ ventured Mr. Latimer, ‘it is 
clear that, if my wife conveyed the news of Lincoln’s approach 
to her father, she must have conveyed it before she actually 
knew it, assuming that I was the only possible channel of 
information — which is the assumption upon which you are 
charging me.’ 

‘Damme! That seems clear enough,’ Moultrie agreed. 

‘Nothing,’ added Mr. Latimer, ‘could be more clear, and in 
view of it I think you may safely leave my wife out of this.’ 

"On the contrary,’ said Rutledge, ‘I think it is time we had 
her in.’ And again he tinkled the bell. 

Appalled, Major Latimer exerted himself to avoid it. If 
Myrtle were brought before these men, it was unthinkable 
that she would not implicate herself. He appealed to the 
oldest of his friends present. 

‘General Moultrie, is this necessary? Must my wife be 
harassed by questions on such a matter as this — a matter on 
which,’ he added desperately, ‘I accept full responsibility?’ 

‘Mrs. Latimer, herself, has begged to be allowed to come 
before us,’ answered Moultrie, ill at ease. 


THE INQUIRY 385 


She was brought in, and Tom Izard, who accompanied her, 
was permitted at her own request to remain. Colonel Laurens 
went to set a chair for her immediately facing Rutledge at the 
table. She accepted it with a murmured word of thanks. She 
was pale, but wonderfully composed. From Harry’s fierce, 
almost brutal, accusation, and from what else Tom had told 
her in answer to her questions, she had realized completely 
what had happened, and the terrible thing of which her 
husband stood accused. The tangle, she saw, was an appalling 
one; but, knowing herself innocent, and equally confident 
that however the betrayal had come about, it was not her 
husband who was guilty, she had the shrewd sense to realize 
that here nothing but a full statement of the truth could avail 
him. By laying all the facts before them, surely the truth must 
reveal itself. 

Tom Izard took his stand beside her. Moultrie and 
Gadsden, who had risen when she entered, resumed their 
seats, and Laurens went round to stand behind Rutledge. 
From where she sat, by turning her head a little to the right, 
she could see her husband, seated with an outward composure 
that was very far from reflecting what was passing in his soul. 

Rutledge’s level voice expounded very briefly the situation: 
the plan by which it had been hoped, in his own phrase, to 
burgoyne the British, and the fact that the British forewarned 
had evaded the trap. 

‘It follows, madam, that we have been betrayed. And as, 
besides myself, only General Moultrie and Major Latimer 
shared the secret, it follows that the betrayer is one or the 
other of these two. Since we are satisfied, from reasons with 
which I think you will not require me to trouble you, that 
General Moultrie is not the traitor, it follows that the guilt 
of this terrible betrayal attaches itself inevitably to your 
husband.’ 

She would have interrupted him at this stage. But he 
restrained her by raising his hand. 


386 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘All that I require of you, madam, is that you will answer 
one or two questions. First of all: Did Major Latimer at any 
time yesterday inform you that General Lincoln was secretly 
advancing upon the British rear?’ 

She did not immediately reply. Here at the very outset she 
found all her firm resolve to tell the truth and nothing but the 
truth shattered by the very first question asked her. She 
looked in terror at Rutledge and almost in equal terror at 
her husband, sitting there so stern-faced and seemingly im- 
passive. 

‘Answer, madam,’ rasped the voice of Gadsden. 

She bowed her head. ‘He did,’ she said scarcely above her 
breath. 

There was a gasp from each of those judges, which in itself 
revealed the fact that, despite the almost conclusive appear- 
ances, they had resisted until this moment the acceptance of 
Latimer’s guilt. 

‘Hell!’ exclaimed Gadsden. 

And Moultrie, his good-humoured face suddenly darkened 
by wrath, swung round to Latimer: ‘God! You smooth-faced 
traitor!’ he ejaculated, and to Latimer it was like a blow. 

‘No, no!’ Myrtle cried, and there was more anger than 
dismay in her voice now. ‘You know that he is not that, 
General Moultrie. You know him; you know what his life has 
been, how he has risked it again and again in this cause. You 
know that, if he told me, there was no thought of betrayal in 
his mind. He told me out of affection for me, out of com- 
passion for my anxieties, to allay the fears that were troubling 
me.’ 

‘No one who considers Major Latimer’s service to the cause 
of freedom can suppose anything else, madam,’ Rutledge 
answered her, and by that answer administered a rebuke to 
Moultrie. 

To Latimer it was an odd thing that the man upon whose 
friendship he would chiefly have counted in this hour should 


THE INQUIRY 387 


turn against him, whilst one whom he regarded almost as 
his enemy should be at pains to hold the scales of justice 
level. And level Rutledge continued to hold them in what 
he added. 

‘Indiscretion and imprudence,’ he continued in the same 
passionless voice, turning now his sombre eyes upon Lati- 
mer, ‘have marked his actions from the outset, and have 
spoilt much of the good service that he has been privileged to 
render. That is the most with which we charge him now. In 
such a case, however, indiscretion is almost as grave a fault as 
active treason, and it exacts the same penalties.’ 

He saw her face twitch and her body stiffen in terror. He: 
paused a moment to allow her to regain her self-control before 
asking his next question. 

‘And you, madam, although realizing out of what motives 
he imparted to you this tremendous secret, did not scruple to 
carry it immediately to your father?’ 

‘That I most certainly did not.’ She was vehement. ‘I am 
ready to make oath as to that, and as to every word I may 
say, Mr. Rutledge.’ 

‘Mrs. Latimer, oaths will not dispel facts, facts that can be 
firmly established. Your father’s arrest yesterday took place 
within a quarter of an hour of your leaving his house. At the 
time of his arrest he was just completing a letter which I 
have here, a letter written in cipher. That alone stamps it as 
a communication to be conveyed to the enemy, a communi- 
cation akin to one taken on an enemy agent the day before.’ 

‘I know nothing of that, sir. Nothing. I said no word to 
my father or to any one of what I had learnt from my husband, 
either yesterday or at any other time.’ 

‘Surely, sirs,’ broke in Latimer, ‘her assertion is enough in 
default of proofs to the contrary. And you can prove nothing 
beyond the fact that I am your betrayer. For that, I repeat, 
I will accept full responsibility. But do not, I beg you, sub- 
ject my wife to further torture,’ 


388 THE CAROLINIAN 


She turned to look at him, and trapped creature though she 
knew herself, there shone in her eyes a light of tenderness and 
wonder, as if this defence of her, this readiness to sacrifice 
himself to save her, blotted out every other consideration. 
She knew what her act must seem to him; how in his eyes the 
betrayal of which he supposed her guilty was confirmed by 
all the lies which he had discovered that she had told him, lies 
which he believed — and was justified in believing — were 
intended to screen a double betrayal. And yet, in spite of all, 
he would immolate himself in her place, take upon his loyal, 
stedfast soul the guilt and shame of a deed for which he must 
atone with his life, and die in the contempt of all men of 
honour. 

It lent her strength to the task before her, strength to tell 
the whole truth at whatever cost to others, so that he might 
know it at last. 

It was the voice of Moultrie, their friend, which came to 
rouse her, with its sinister, bitterly hostile note: 

“You are forgetting, sir, that Mrs. Latimer has already 
admitted that you told her.’ 

‘But not that she told her father,’ he answered fiercely. 
‘As I told her, I may have told others. Why not? Mr. 
Rutledge knows my capacity for indiscretion. Why should I 
have confined it to my wife alone?’ 

‘At present,’ Rutledge answered him, ‘we are concerned 
with what Mrs. Latimer informs us you did confide to her.’ 
And he turned again to Myrtle. ‘Mrs. Latimer, will you tell 
us what was the object of your visit yesterday to your father?’ 

‘Is it unusual for a daughter to visit her father?’ sneered 
Latimer. 

Rutledge rapped the table with.a pencil he was holding. 

‘Please, Major Latimer! Unless you can restrain yourself, 
I shall examine the witness in your absence. Now, Mrs. 
Latimer.’ 

She began to speak in a low, composed voice. ‘So that you 


THE INQUIRY 389 


may understand, I shall have to go back to the beginning. 
When I shall have done, it is probable that you will not be- 
lieve me. I can only protest again, and upon my oath, that I 
shall tell you all the truth.’ 

It impressed them oddly with its foreshadowing of dis- 
closures perhaps beyond the scope of this informal inquiry. 

‘In February last, when my father returned to Charles 
Town and lay dangerously ill, I went to visit him, for the 
purpose of being reconciled, and further that I should perform 
a daughter’s duty by him in his extremity.? And now came 
the story of her first meeting with the Quaker Neild and her 
discovery of his identity, a story whose details startled them 
all, and Harry more than any. For to him it was as if she 
were giving her own lover to a firing-party. 

Moultrie would have interrupted her, but Rutledge re- 
strained him, his legal mind insisting upon regularity of 
procedure. 

‘Presently, presently! Let Mrs. Latimer continue her 
story.’ 

‘Conceiving him a spy, I would at once have denounced 
him. But he persuaded me that the reason of his presence 
here in disguise was entirely my father’s condition. My 
father, as some of you may know, had made Robert Mande- 
ville his heir after he disinherited me for marrying ...a rebel. 
It was natural in the circumstances that interest as well as 
solicitude should have brought him to my father’s side at a 
time when my father’s life was almost despaired of. Because 
of that, I believed him. Because I believed him and because 
he swore that, if I held my tongue, he would depart at once 
and never return to Charles Town as long as the war lasted, I 
... 1 kept the matter a secret.’ She paused, and then contin- 
ued. ‘The day before yesterday, whilst my husband was 
snatching a brief rest, Mr. Middleton came to say that a 
Quaker named Neild was here to see him. I was angry and 
terrified. I came down at once, and I saw this man here in 


390 THE CAROLINIAN 


this room. I came to upbraid him with his broken faith, the 
deceit he had practised upon me — for that I now believed it 
to be — before denouncing him to my husband.’ 

‘You denounced him to your husband, do you say?’ ejacu- 
lated Moultrie, incredulous. 

‘No. It is for that that Iam now being punished. If I had 
done so, none of this could have happened, for upon his arrest 
must have followed immediately my father’s. But he made 
me afraid, afraid not only for myself, but for my husband. 
He showed me that my father’s reconciliation was no more 
than a cruel comedy, played for the purpose of entangling my 
husband sooner or later and bringing him down in shame 
and ruin.’ 

She enlarged upon this, going into the causes of her father’s 
hate, explaining how he had chafed in the bonds which his un- 
finished duel with Latimer had imposed upon him. 

‘Captain Mandeville showed me that I could not now de- 
nounce him without denouncing myself. That by saving him 
once before, I had rendered myself his accomplice. That even 
if he were silent as to that, my father would drag the fact into 
the light to damn me, and my husband with me. 

‘I know now that I should have been strong, that I should 
have told my husband at once, and taken the risk of the rest. 
But there was more than that. There was a debt between 
Captain Mandeville and myself. In the old days, when my 
husband’s life was in danger, it was Captain Mandeville who, 
by interceding with Lord William Campbell out of kindness 
and affection for me, had prevailed upon him to give my hus- 
band the alternative of banishment.’ 

“You believed that?’ cried Gadsden, with memories of the 
night when, bound hand and foot by Mandeville’s contriving 
—as he more than suspected — Latimer was about to be 
flung by mistake into the barge in which the merchant was 
returning to the wharf. 

‘T believe it still. Because of that debt, and because of my 


THE INQUIRY 391 


fears, again I consented to hold my tongue. Circumstances 
forced it upon me. My husband came into the room whilst I 
was still talking to my cousin. My courage failed me in that 
moment. Afterwards, when I would have told him, it was too 
late. He informed me that, acting upon his orders to detain 
the man in any event, he was keeping him under arrest for the 
present.’ 

She paused, and, taking advantage of the pause, Rutledge 
touched the bell on the table. 

‘It is your wish, I assume,’ he said, looking round at the 
soldiers, ‘to see this man?’ 

They started out of the absorption into which one and all 
had been plunged by Myrtle’s story. Hastily they assented. 
Shubrick came in, and Rutledge beckoned him forward. 

‘Have the man who passes as a Quaker named Neild 
brought here at once,’ he said; ‘then send a guard for Sir 
Andrew Carey, and put him in the anteroom until I require 
him. As you go, ask Middleton to bring me the letter found 
upon the man Quinn who was shot yesterday.’ 

Shubrick went out, bestowing in passing a half-scared look 
upon Major Latimer, who was sitting back in his chair with 
half-closed eyes reviewing in his mind the confession that he 
had just heard from Myrtle. 

There was a new pain in Latimer’s heart now. This was the 
woman who he was 'persuaded had betrayed him, whom less 
than an hour ago he would have shot if he had not been mer- 
cifully prevented. Whatever else her clear, straightforward 
narrative might accomplish, it had accomplished his own con- 
version to the truth, scattered the last hideous doubt in his 
mind, and made all clear that hitherto had been troubled and 
confused. It had revived in him the will to live, if only that he 
might make amends and earn forgiveness for nile assumptions 
that dishonoured only him who entertained them. 

Then her voice roused him. She was speaking again, in the 
same quiet, self-contained tones. 


392 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘You have asked me, Mr. Rutledge, what motive I had for 
seeking my father yesterday. I may seem to you to be a long 
time in coming to that, and what I have told you may seem 
rather to supply reasons why I should have avoided him. 
But there is just this thing more: When Captain Mandeville 
disclosed to me the bitterness of my father’s rancour, the 
depths of his scheming hatred, the extent to which a word 
from him could destroy me, he made me realize that, if my 
father knew him under arrest, that word, supported by 
Heaven knows what lies, my father might speak at once. To 
prevent this, I went to my father at the earliest moment. I 
assured him that, as I believed, Captain Mandeville was de- 
tained only as a precautionary measure, but that his identity 
was not suspected, and that presently he would be released. 
My father’s conduct confirmed all that Captain Mandeville 
had told me. He no longer made any pretence to me. He 
showed himself compounded of vindictiveness and hatred. 
He warned me that, if harm befell Mandeville, he would de- 
nounce me and my husband with me. He had information of 
the American troops and of their movements which he would 
swear were obtained from me, to whom my husband had con- 
fided them. And, if I failed to bring him word every day of 
Captain Mandeville’s position, he would assume the worst, 
and act at once. And now you know why I visited him again 
yesterday. It was to reassure him, so that I might keep him 
quiet.’ She ceased. ‘That is all I have to tell you. It is all 
that I know, and I swear to you that every word of it is true. 
Deeply, bitterly, do I regret the folly into which cowardice 
has led me. But I repeat that, however the British may have 
been warned, they were not warned through me.’ 

Her words had that quality of sincerity that compels be- 
lief, and there was a spell of silence after she had finished. 
Gadsden was the first to speak; and his words were an expres- 
sion of amazement rather than unbelief. 

‘It is incredible that a father should carry vindictiveness 
the length of destroying his own child.’ 


= ——_ 


THE INQUIRY 303 


Rutledge made philosophy: ‘ Nothing that is evil is incred- 
ible in man.’ 

And then Middleton came in bringing the letter Rutledge 
had requested. The Governor took it, and spread it on the 
table, face downwards, studying some pencilled notes with 
which its back was covered. 

As the lieutenant went out again, Moultrie shifted uncom- 
fortably in his chair, his broad, tanned face creased in lines of 
ill-humour. 

‘All this does not dispose of the fact that Prevost had warn- 
ing. That the warning can have proceeded only from your 
husband or myself, and we have now your word for it that 
your husband did convey that secret to you yesterday after- 
noon.’ 

Nothing here perhaps terrified her more than this hostility 
in one whom she had come to regard with almost filial affec- 
tion, one who had never shown anything but love for herself 
and Harry. 

Rutledge looked up from the sheet of paper on which he 
was beginning to scribble. 

‘How, exactly, did your husband convey the information to 
your’ he asked, remembering that question of time which 
Latimer had raised. 

‘How?’ She knit her brows, puzzled by the question. ‘He 
told me.’ 

‘He told you? By word of mouth?’ She nodded, wondering 
why Rutledge should lay such stress upon those questions. 
‘When did he tell you?’ 

‘Yesterday morning, before he went to the lines.’ 

‘No, no, madam? You are mistaken. Bethink you.’ 

‘I am not mistaken; it was, as nearly as I can remember, at 
about ten o’clock yesterday morning.’ 

With the exception of Latimer, who was sitting forward, 
anxiety and eagerness blending in his face, there was on every 
countenance a reflection of scornful amazement. 


304 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘Madam,’ said Moultrie, ‘this is not the truth. He could 
not have told you then, because he did not know it. He did 
not learn of it from his excellency until close on twelve.’ 

She looked at them in bewilderment. But his sphinx-like 
excellency met her gaze in silence. ‘Nevertheless, he told me 
then,’ she insisted. 

‘But don’t you see that it is false, ma’am?’ cried Gadsden. 
‘That what you say is impossible.’ 

‘It sounds impossible,’ said Rutledge, slowly, ‘and yet... 
It is necessary to remember that Carey was arrested an hour 
before Major Latimer returned from the lines. That Major 
Latimer could not possibly have sent a message is, I think, 
within our knowledge; certainly within General Moultrie’s 
and my own. For, from the moment that I told him this 
secret until he went with Colonel Smith to meet the British 
commissioners, he was never out of our sight for a second.’ 

‘Egad! That’s true!’ Moultrie agreed. | 

‘And yet the damning fact remains. There is something 
here that baffles reasoning.’ He turned to the prisoner. 
‘Major Latimer, I recall now that you were singularly re- 
luctant to go upon this errand for me; that the communication 
of the secret excited you very oddly; you made excuses: at 
first you urged your exhausted condition as a reason why you 
should not be sent; then you put forward a foolish objection 
based upon your rank. Will you be frank with us now?’ 

It was the only thing to be, since his silence must condemn 
him; and so he chose, as his wife had chosen, a course of utter 
candour. He began by telling them.how he had discovered 
for himself that his wife was deceiving him with those false- 
hoods to which she had now confessed. 

Moultrie interrupted him at that stage. ‘Are you telling us 
that you knew the real identity of this man Neild?’ 

‘Tam. I discovered it when I examined him.’ 

‘And you kept it to yourself?’ 

‘For the very reasons my wife has given you. Mandeville 


THE INQUIRY 395 


used the same arguments with me that he had already used 
with her. He showed me that he and Carey had so entangled 
and compromised my wife that I could not denounce him 
without endangering her. So I contented myself for the 
present with detaining him, thereby rendering him at least 
powerless to harm us by espionage.’ 

Thence, after a pause, he resumed the tale of his suspicions, 
his torment of doubt on the score of the extent of his wife’s 
faithlessness, and his resolve, so terrible in its consequences, to 
put her to the test. 

‘In that evil hour, sir,’ he told Rutledge, ‘I remembered 
something you first said years ago and repeated lately, in con- 
nection with the traitor Featherstone: that when a person is 
suspected of spying, it is possible by means of false informa- 
tion to establish his guilt and mislead the enemy at one and 
the same time.’ 

‘But this test, sir... the nature of this test!’ cried Moul- 
trie. ‘Would you have us believe possible so extraordinary a 
fatality, so extraordinary a coincidence?’ 

‘It is hardly a coincidence at all. If General Moultrie will 
recall words said to me a little while before — words similar 
to those which he used to your excellency a few hours later at 
the meeting of the Council...’ 

‘Aye! I remember!’ Moultrie interrupted him. 

‘You deplored, sir, civilian intervention in military affairs 
but for which Lincoln’s army would have been where it was 
required instead of idling at Savannah. When you said that, 
you suggested the obvious test, and I applied it. Now, sirs, 
you know all, and I hope that you believe as firmly as I be- 
lieve that my wife is innocent.’ 

‘You overlook, sir,’ said Rutledge gravely, ‘that if we be- 
lieve you now — and I scarcely see, all the facts considered, 
what other explanation fits — the case against Mrs. Latimer 
is stronger than it ever was. The extraordinary test you tell 
us you applied makes possible what seemed impossible before: 


396 THE CAROLINIAN 


that she should have communicated to her father, before he 
was arrested, this false information, which yet was true.’ 

Latimer’s eyes dilated in sudden fear. Only now did he 
perceive how his trust in truth had been misplaced. In his 
candour he had overshot the mark. 

‘Oh, my God!’ he groaned, and sank down again into his 
seat. 

‘But it clears him,’ cried Myrtle. ‘You cannot doubt the 
truth of what he has told you. Your excellency has said that 
it fits.’ 

‘Do you admit, madam,’ Rutledge asked her, ‘that you 
conveyed this information to your father?’ 

She looked at them a little piteously, obviously hesitating. 
And Latimer, instinctively apprehending the reasons for her 
hesitation, and in terror lest out of her desperate anxiety to 
save him she might have recourse to a lie that should incrim- 
inate herself more deeply than ever, cried out commandingly: 

‘The truth, Myrtle! The truth, without regard to any- 
thing!’ 

That clear command afforded her the guidance that she 
needed. 

‘T did not,’ she answered firmly. ‘I swear that I did not.’ 

Rutledge bowed his head. ‘If there are no further ques- 
tions for the witness...’ He paused, his hand upon the bell, 
and after a moment, none of his associates making shift to 
speak, he rang. 

Shubrick was prompt to answer the summons. 

‘Is the man who calls himself Neild here yet?’ 

The ensign replied that he was waiting. 

‘Bring him in,’ said Rutledge, and to fill in the pause that 
followed, he returned to the notes he was making in pencil. 


CHAPTER XVII 
JUDGMENT 


AJOR MANDEVILLE came in between two troopers, 
erect, firm of step, confident and composed of coun- 
tenance. 

Myrtle, at the end of her examination, had been led aside 
by Tom Izard to another chair. And now, in obedience to a 
sign from Rutledge, Shubrick and the guards fell back a little, 
leaving the prisoner face to face with the Governor. 

The Englishman’s dark, piercing eyes took in the situation 
at a glance. Whilst much of it still remained mysterious, he 
perceived his own danger in the intent scrutiny to which he 
was subjected, and he suspected at once that his identity was 
known, He was not left in any doubt. 

‘We understand,’ said Rutledge, ‘that you are Captain 
Mandeville, a British officer.’ 

The abruptness of the challenge startled him a little. So 
much his face betrayed. But only fora moment was he thrown 
off his balance. In the next he was bowing, cool and urbane, 
to Rutledge, and correcting him precisely as in similar case he 
had corrected Latimer. 

‘Major Mandeville, if you please.’ And he added, not with- 
out irony: ‘Your humble obedient.’ 

“You confess yourself, of course, a British spy?’ 

‘Considering the garb in which you behold me, the confes- 
sion is surely unnecessary.’ 

Far from evincing any sign of fear, he spoke almost with a 
trace of humour. To the end he would be the correct repre- 
sentative of the artificial age and the artificial society to which 
he belonged. As he had lived, so he would die, true to his code, 
and, whatever else he might forget, he would never forget the 


398 THE CAROLINIAN 


deportment that he owed to himself, to his birth, and his race. 

‘You know, Major Mandeville, what awaits you?’ Rut- 
ledge asked him. 

‘Naturally. It by no means exhausts my perspicacity.’ 

Rutledge considered him a moment before putting his next 
question. 

‘Have you, yourself, any notion why Major Latimer should 
not immediately have denounced you upon discovering your 
true identity?’ 

Mandeville looked round at Latimer, and a faint smile 
curled his lip. Then his eyes shifted to Myrtle, and, meeting 
the condemnation in her glance, his smile perished. He drew 
himself stiffly to attention, a tall figure, of great dignity, de- 
spite his abominable disguise. 

‘I gave Major Latimer excellent reasons why he could not 
denounce me without grave danger to his wife and even to 
himself.’ 

‘Will you repeat these reasons?’ 

‘That is my intention. The game, I see, is lost, like most 
games I ever played. I was always an unlucky gambler; but 
at least always a good loser.’ And the story he told them now 
was one that confirmed in every particular what they had 
already heard. 

When he had done, Rutledge asked a question, musingly. 

“You say that you disclosed to Mrs. Latimer the monstrous 
part her father has played towards her in the past six months?’ 

‘That is what I said.’ 

‘Yet in this, upon your own confession, you assisted Carey. 
Why, then, do you betray him now?’ 

‘Set it down to a common human weakness to speak the 
truth in the face of death. If that does not satisfy you, as- 
sume that whilst I stood to make an ultimate gain from it, I 
was willing enough to forward the matter. But the induce- 
ment ends with the hope. I was never one to practise villainy 
for its own sake.’ 


JUDGMENT 399 


It was, I suspect, less than the truth, and yet the truth was 
contained in it. 

Rutledge’s next question was a little startling to them all. 

‘If you were told that, after having learnt these facts from 
you, Mrs. Latimer had conveyed to her father secret informa- 
tion obtained from her husband, which could be of use to the 
British, what should you say?’ 

‘Say?’ Mandeville’s astonishment was unfeigned. ‘What 
does your excellency say? What does any man who reasons 
say?’ 

‘Ah!’ said Rutledge. ‘And yet, conveyed such information 
certainly was.’ 

“By Mrs. Latimer?’ cried Mandeville. He spoke contemp- 
tuously. ‘Sirs, your wits need furbishing.’ 

Rutledge invited his associates to question the witness if 
they so desired. They did not, and Shubrick was ordered to 
remove him, and to bring in Sir Andrew Carey. 

Mandeville’s glance sought Myrtle in a pleading farewell. 
He had done his best for her at the last, and gratitude now 
invested her eyes with a look of compassion. 

After that he took his place between his guards, and went 
out, his step as firm, his head as high as that of any man who 
ever faced the fate of a detected spy. His proud bearing dig- 
nified his end. It made those who watched him go remember 
that, execrable as is the spy accounted by the side against 
which he works, the cause he serves may well regard him as 
an heroic martyr. 

When he had gone, Rutledge repeated to them in a slightly 
different form the question he had put to Mandeville him- 
self. 

‘If you believe what that man has told us of his interview 
with Mrs. Latimer — and it closely confirms her own and 
Major Latimer’s stories — ask yourselves whether, upon 
learning such abominable facts concerning her father, it is 
credible that she would have conveyed information to him.’ 


400 THE CAROLINIAN 


‘But the fact,’ cried Moultrie in distress, ‘the damnable 
fact that the information was conveyed?’ | 

‘Aye,’ said Gadsden. ‘That’s something that remains un- 
shaken and unexplained.’ 

And Colonel Laurens silently nodded his agreement. 

‘Carey’s evidence may shake it,’ said Rutledge. ‘I do not 
know. But whilst we examine him, keep present in your 
minds what I have said.’ 

That was the first word in his favour that Latimer had 
heard from his judges, and to him the amazing fact was that 
it should proceed from one whom he had come to regard al- 
most as his personal enemy, one whom three days ago he had 
threatened with a challenge to follow when the settlement of 
the present troubles of Charles Town should make it possible. 

Rutledge was speaking again. ‘It will be best, I think, if 
Mrs. Latimer is not present at the examination of her father, 
in case we should afterwards wish to reéxamine her.’ He made 
the statement interrogatively, and upon receiving the acqui- 
escence of the others, he begged Captain Izard to conduct her 
from the room. 

‘We leave her in your charge, Captain Izard. Take her into 
the dining-room until we need her again.’ 

As she was passing out, she looked very wistfully at her 
husband, almost as if in fear. Harry Latimer returned the 
glance with one which at first was no more than its reflected 
expression, but which ended in a smile of confidence and en- 
couragement. 

Rutledge was bending over his sheet of paper, referring now 
to one, now to the other, of the documents before him, his 
pencil travelling faster than ever. | 

At length Sir Andrew Carey, under guard, was ushered in 
by Shubrick. It was the first time that Latimer had seen him 
since that night of their duel at Brewton’s, four years ago, and 
he was amazed atthe change in the man. His bulk had shrunk 
so that his clothes hung loose and empty about him, and he 


JUDGMENT 401 


seemed to have lost height. His face, so full, ruddy, and 
hearty in the old days, was now grey and hollow-cheeked. 
He carried himself aggressively, but his feebleness was not to 
be dissembled, and he leaned heavily upon a cane. In his eyes 
alone was there vigour and life. They smouldered balefully 
as they fell upon Latimer; then glowed with a sardonic smile 
as they raked the faces of the others present. 

Rutledge wrote on, without raising his head, so engrossed 
now in his task that he did not even look up when, in fierce ex- 
pression of his hatred, Carey mockingly addressed the little 
gathering. 

‘But where is the hero of the hour? Your great General 
Lincoln?’ 

‘What do you know of Lincoln?’ Moultrie sharply ques- 
tioned him. 

‘Faith, I know him for a damned rebel, and that’s all I 
want to know of him.’ 

Shubrick ventured to interpose an explanation. ‘The or- 
derlies in the anteroom, sir, have been talking too freely be- 
fore him.’ 

Carey laughed at them. ‘What discipline can you look for 
in a pack of seditious curs?’ 

Rutledge laid down his pencil, at last, and looked up. 
There was the ghost of a smile on his thin lips, but his voice 
was as cold as ever. 

‘If General Lincoln has not yet arrived, at least General 
Prevost has departed. The reflection may serve to cool your 
insolence when I add to it that I have documentary evidence 
before me that you have been acting as an enemy agent in 
Charles Town.’ 

‘An enemy agent? Why, you pitiful traitor...’ 

‘A British agent, if you prefer it. You know enough of the 
world, I am sure, to have some notion of what may happen to 
you.’ 

‘Bah!’ said Carey, attempting bravado. But he was none 


402 THE CAROLINIAN 


too successful. His lips quivered, and his glance fell away 
before Rutledge’s. 
Moultrie asked a question: ‘Have you any notion, sir, how 


the British came to be informed of the approach of General 


Lincoln?’ 

A shade of annoyance crossed Rutledge’s face, as if this 
were not a question that he desired. 

Carey’ s eyes gleamed. He paused a moment before an- 
swering. ‘I have. They were informed by me upon informa- 
tion obtained from Major Latimer.’ 

If any doubt could still have lingered in Latimer’s mind of 
the truth of what he had heard from his wife and Mande- 
ville, this deliberate, cold-blooded lie must finally have dis- 
pelled it. 

“You are very eager, sir,’ cried Laurens, ‘to swear away 
your life.’ 

‘My life?’ He shrugged his still heavy shoulders. ‘Haven’t 
you just told me, you murderers, that my life is forfeit?’ 

‘But not the life of Major Latimer,’ said Rutledge. ‘Nor 
would you swear it away so glibly if what you say is true. By 
doing so, you testify in his favour.’ 

Carey’s smouldering eyes considered the Governor in re- 
pressed fury. He realized his false step, and he set about re- 
trieving it. 

‘You are right, Mr. Rutledge,’ he said quietly. ‘It serves 
no purpose to deceive you.’ Then, in a voice vibrating with 
passion, he went on: ‘ You all know the wrong, the unpardon- 
able wrong this man did me. Like a coward he bound my 
hands, so that I could not take satisfaction from him in an 
honourable way. Was that to be borne? Was I to lie forever 
under that intolerable debt? Since I might not pay it one way, 
I have paid it another. Pretending to yield to my daughter’s 
intercessions, I secretly made my peace with him, and I con- 
verted him HS to the cause from which he had traitoroushy 
seceded.’ 


JUDGMENT 403 


‘When? When did you do this?’ Moultrie asked. ‘Be 
more precise.’ 

‘Six months ago,’ he answered impatiently, as if the inter- 
ruption were frivolous; and he swept on with his tale of in- 
famy. ‘Why, do you think, didI doit? That I might entangle 
and break him in the end. For months now he has been sup- 
plying me with information which I have been forwarding to 
the British, and which has brought about the frustration of 
your rebel aims. Thus he has doubly served my ends.’ 

Again Rutledge was surprising. ‘Of that we were already 
more or less persuaded. It but required your own testimony 
to confirm us.’ 

‘Ha, ha!’ The Baronet almost gloated. ‘And now you have 
it. There he stands; as false to you as he was false to me; 
false and rotten to the core of him.’ 

Latimer was on his feet, his face inflamed. 

‘Mr. Rutledge, in God’s name, if I am to be shot on the 
word of this vindictive madman...’ 

Rutledge quelled him sternly. ‘Major Latimer, you shall 
be given opportunity to answer, never fear.’ And he resumed 
his questioning of Sir Andrew. ‘You have said that it was 
yourself conveyed to the British the information that Lincoln 
was approaching to surprise them. Was this information re- 
ceived from Mrs. Latimer?’ 

‘She was the bearer of a note from her husband, which con- 
tained it.’ 

“You have this note?’ 

Carey smiled. ‘It is not a document a prudent man would 
keep.’ 

‘But you are not a prudent man in this matter, Sir Andrew. 
And for your purposes of vengeance what evidence could 
have been more conclusive now? But we will pass on. You 
were arrested within a few minutes of your daughter’s visit, 
and your papers were seized at the same time. They include 
this letter which you were just finishing. It isin cipher, which 


404 THE CAROLINIAN 


of itself sufficiently proclaims its object. It was intended for 
the British, was it not?’ 

‘For General Prevost.’ 

‘Yet it was never despatched. How do you reconcile that 
with your assertion that the information you received was 
actually conveyed to the British?’ 

It was a question that startled them all, with the possible 
exception of Latimer, who, from his own reasoning of yester- 
day, knew already what the answer must be. Yet it was not 
as obvious to Carey. For a moment or two he floundered in 
the trap before he perceived the clear way out, and took it. 

‘I was arrested a quarter of an hour after my daughter left 
me; but three quarters of an hour after she arrived. The-letter 
informing General Prevost of Lincoln’s approach was des- 
patched a half-hour before my arrest. Otherwise how did the 
news reach Prevost? And you know that it did reach him.’ 

‘Aye,’ growled Moultrie, ‘that’s the damning fact to which 
all roads must lead in the end, however they seem to be taking 
different directions.’ 

‘A moment, please,’ Rutledge repressed him. ‘What, then, 
Sir Andrew, was the object of this further letter, which also, 
as you have told us, was intended for General Prevost?’ 

Carey’s answer was prompt. ‘It duplicated the infor- 
mation. The news was too important to be left to a single 
messenger. I was sending a second one against the danger of 
the first being arrested.’ 

Rutledge sank back in his chair with bowed head and half- 
closed eyes, thoughtfully tapping his teeth with the pencil he 
had taken up again. Then suddenly he looked round at the 
others. 

‘Have you any questions for the witness?’ There was 
something odd and very unusual in his manner, a certain sly- 
ness in his glance, than which nothing could normally be more 
alien to John Rutledge. 

“What more can he tell us?’ said Gadsden between irrita- 


JUDGMENT 405 


tion and regret. ‘He has cast a new light on what we have 
already heard.’ 

Rutledge looked at Moultrie, as if inviting him to speak. 
The sternness that had hitherto supported the General 
suddenly deserted him. He sank forward leaning his elbows 
on his knees, resting his chin in his cupped palms, his troubled 
eyes on Sir Andrew, standing there almost exultant, recking 
nothing of what might befall himself now that at last he had 
pulled his enemy down. 

“You unnatural, kite-hearted monster!’ Moultrie growled 
at him. 

Carey eyed him with contempt. ‘Your insults cannot 
touch me, you rebel dog.’ 

‘God keep us all from such loyalty as yours,’ Gadsden 
answered him. ‘Stab me, sir, you’re a worthy servant of your 
besotted King George.’ 

The Baronet looked at him in speechless fury, whilst Rut- 
ledge rapped the table sharply with his pencil. 

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen! Let us keep to the matter bctore 
us. If you have no questions for the witness, we will get on.’ 

And now, at last, seeing that no one had anything further to 
say, Latimer nudged that his time was come. 

‘Your excellency!’ he appealed to the Governor. 

But he was not destined to be heard in his own defence. 
At that moment there was uproar in the hall outside. A voice 
excitedly raised was demanding instant audience of the 
Governor. Others were presumably representing the im- 
possibility of this, for the voice grew ever more clamant and 
was accompanied now by the sounds of a scuffle, ending in a 
heavy blow upon the door. 

‘See what is happening,’ Rutledge ordered Shubrick. 

The ensign went to open. Instantly a tall, loose-limbed 
man, without coat or hat or wig, his white waistcoat and 
buckskin breeches dedaubed with mud, his Hessian boots, 

from one of which the spur had been wrenched, squelching 


406 THE CAROLINIAN 


water as he stepped, precipitated himself almost headlong 
into the room. He recovered his balance, and presented a 
furious, excited countenance, ghastly white under the filth 
and blood that masked it. 

‘Governor Rutledge!’ he cried, stridently, and his blood- 
shot eyes raked the room. ‘Which of you is Governor Rut- 
ledge?’ 

‘Stab me!’ cried Gadsden, getting to his feet. ‘What new 
madman’s this?’ 

The fellow stiffened to attention at that question from a 
general officer. He presented himself. 

‘Lieutenant Eaton, of Captain Fall’s Light Horse, attached 
to General Rutherford’s Brigade.’ 

‘What?’ It was an ejaculation from Rutledge, sharp as 
the crack of a whip. Rutherford’s Brigade was part of 
Lincoln’s force. 

He waved away the guards who had charge of Carey, and 
obediently they withdrew their reluctant prisoner into the 
background, so that they no longer intervened between the 
Governor and the newcomer. 

‘Approach, sir. I am John Rutledge.’ 

The man staggered forward. It was now seen that he was 
in the last stage of exhaustion and that only his excitement 
had made possible his last outburst. 

‘IT am an express rider from General Lincoln,’ he further 
announced himself. 

‘Where is General Lincoln?’ Moultrie interrupted him. 

‘When I left him at noon yesterday, he was approaching 
the Edisto. He should be at Willtown or thereabouts by now.’ 

“At Willtown?’ echoed Moultrie in amazement, for Will- 
town was thirty miles away. ‘What has delayed him?’ 

‘He explained it in his letter to your excellency,’ Eaton 
informed the Governor. 

‘Letter? Do you say you had a letter? That General 
Lincoln was so imprudent as to send a letter?’ His cheeks 


JUDGMENT 407 


were scarlet. Probably no man had ever seen him in so royal 
a rage. But no one was observing him at the moment. All 
eyes were upon the messenger, and none more eager than 
Latimer’s, who already foresaw the real explanation of how 
the news had reached the British. 

Lieutenant Eaton explained himself. ‘I had orders to de- 
stroy it if in danger of capture. Unfortunately, I was taken 
unawares. I stumbled into the British lines on the Ashley 
just after midnight, and I was knocked over, searched, and 
the letter taken from me before I knew what had happened. 
I escaped just before dawn, in the confusion of the British 
retreat, and I swam the Ashley in the dark.’ 

‘My God!’ groaned Moultrie, and with eyes that were now 
almost afraid he looked across at Latimer, who smiled back 
at him, though not without a touch of bitterness. 

‘Yes,’ said Rutledge, voicing the thought in every mind. 
‘That affords another explanation of how General Prevost 
was warned.’ He looked at Eaton. ‘What was in your letter? 
Do you know?’ 

‘Yes, sir. It was to inform your excellency that the General 
was making and would continue to make every exertion for 
the relief of Charles Town; that he would abandon his baggage 
so as to hasten progress; to assure you that the men are full of 
spirit; and to exhort you to stimulate your people into every 
effort for the defence of the town until he could bring up his 
troops.’ 

The scarlet tide of anger had ebbed from Rutledge’s cheeks. 
He was white now to the lips. His utterance came thick and 
tremulous with passion. 

‘He deemed it necessary to write me that! And it was only 
yesterday beyond the Edisto that it occurred to him to leave 
his baggage! His baggage! What did he think himself? A 
pedlar, taking wares to market? And then to write to me! 
That he should not be here at the time appointed was bad 

enough. But to write to me that he was coming! God of 


408 THE CAROLINIAN 


Heaven! That I should have to work with such clumsy, 
blunted tools!’ 

He sank back in his chair, everything else forgotten for the 
moment in the bitterness of his realization that, through 
sluggishness aggravated by an act of crass stupidity, his 
elaborate plan should have been wrecked, with the result that 
the war might continue for years to afflict his distracted 
country. 

But, if he had no thought at the moment save for the effect 
of this blunder upon his plans, Moultrie had no thought save 
for the effect of the news upon the charge against Latimer, and 
it was he who now took up the questioning of the express 
rider. 

‘When you were seized in the British lines, what was the 
condition of the camp?’ 

‘The British were asleep, sir. I was dragged off to General 
Prevost’s quarters, and kept waiting whilst they roused the 
General. He came in a bedgown to examine me.’ 

‘So that until he read the letter you carried, General 
Prevost had no knowledge, no suspicion even, that General 
Lincoln was creeping upon him?’ 

‘““Creeping”’ is the word, Moultrie,’ sneered the livid 
Rutledge. 

‘That, he certainly had not, sir,’ Eaton answered. ‘He 
went almost mad in his surprise. Within ten minutes the 
bugles were blowing and the drums were beating to rouse the 
men. Within a half-hour the British had begun to break 
camp.’ 

Moultrie swung to the Governor. He was shaking with 
excitement. 

‘You hear that, John? You perceive how that bears upon 
the case against Latimer? How it proves Carey’s evidence a 
wicked lie?’ 

In the background Carey uttered a sneering, confident 
laugh. Rutledge glanced at him in silence. 


JUDGMENT 409 


‘So much,’ the Governor surprised them all by saying, “was 
no longer necessary to prove that.’ Then he waved the 
express rider away. ‘You may go, sir, and get the rest of 
which you appear to stand in need. No blame attaches to you 
for what has happened.’ 

Eaton thanked him, and staggered out. 

Rutledge sat forward again, to return to the considerations 
that had been so startlingly interrupted. 

‘Now, Major Latimer, I do not think we need detain you 
long.’ 

‘Don’t you?’ quoth Carey with a malicious chuckle. 

‘Have you more lies for us?’ demanded Moultrie. 

Unbidden Sir Andrew advanced, his guards keeping close. 
He leaned heavily upon his cane. 

“You think this evidence acquits him, do you? You pur- 
blind fools! All that it proves is that Lincoln’s messenger 
reached Prevost before mine. It is even possible that mine 
miscarried. It was the danger of that made me prepare a 
second message.’ 

‘Ah, yes,’ said Rutledge. ‘This cipher message.’ He took 
up the letter. ‘Will you read it to us now?’ 

‘Gladly. Then perhaps you will be convinced.’ 

In silence Rutledge handed him the letter, and Carey read: 


DEAR GENERAL — These to inform you again, in case my letter 
of this morning should not have reached you, that Lincoln is 
rapidly advancing upon your rear, so that, should you remain in 
your present situation, you may find it become one of extreme 
hazard. I have this from a sure source, namely, my son-in-law, 
Major Latimer, who is aide to General Moultrie, commanding 
here. 


Moultrie, Gadsden, and Laurens frowned at one another in 
fresh perplexity. Their minds rebelled now against believing. 
And yet the letter was in cipher, and out of that alone it 
followed that some secret intelligence must be contained in it. 


410 THE CAROLINIAN 


It was written immediately after Myrtle’s visit to her father, 
and that Latimer had told her this thing, she had admitted. 
So, too, was Latimer himself in danger now of reasoning, al- 
though earlier he had cast all doubt of his wife from his mind. 

‘Sir,’ he exclaimed passionately to Rutledge, ‘he is lying! 
Lying to destroy me, which he has avowed to be his aim. 
Whatever the letter contains, it cannot contain what he has 
said. Compel him, sir, to produce the cipher. In justice to 
me you must do that — now that we have had the express- 
rider’s story.’ 

‘Produce the cipher!’ Carey laughed. ‘Give you so precious 
a key as that! Not I, indeed!’ 

‘It is not necessary, said Rutledge quietly. And his pencil 
tapped the papers on the table. ‘I have it here.’ 

Carey’s mouth loosened. His face, which had been flushed, 
turned now a sickly grey. ‘You have it there?’ he echoed 
thickly. ‘It... it isn’t possible!’ 

But Rutledge showed him that it was. ‘A messenger of 
yours, a spy named Quinn, was taken yesterday with a cipher 
message upon him. It was deciphered at leisure by my secre- 
tary, who is an able and patient fellow. Thus I was supplied 
with the key. With that key I have been deciphering your 
letter for myself whilst sitting here. Shall I read it to you?’ 

Sir Andrew swayed a little, his face convulsed. His mouth 
opened and closed; but no words came forth. 

Rutledge lowered his eyes to the sheet he had taken up, 
that sheet upon which his pencil had been busy. 

‘Here is what you really wrote:’ 


DEAR GENERAL — I regret to inform you that Mandeville has 
been arrested; but I am glad to add that his true identity is not 
yet discovered, and that he is being detained merely as a meas- 
ure of precaution by order of the rebel Governor, who is afflicted 
with the cowardice of his kind. His observations before his arrest 
led him to estimate at not more than three thousand the forces 
defending the town, and many of these are raw militia who will 


JUDGMENT AIL 


never stand after the first British fire. So forward with confidence, 
and deliver us from these traitors. 


He looked up. ‘That, sir, is what you wrote. If anything 
had still been wanting to establish completely the innocence 
of Major Latimer and his wife...’ 

He broke off to look at Carey, who was no longer listening 
to him. 

The Baronet had let fall his cane from a hand which had 
suddenly grown nerveless. Purple now of face, he was clawing 
the air wildly with his hands, like a man fighting for breath. 
Suddenly he crashed back at full length upon the ground, 
rolled half over, and lay still. 

There was a general forward movement of awe and horror. 
Rutledge, who had sprung up, went round to the side of the 
fallen man. A moment he stood looking at him. Then he 
went down on one knee, and held a hand for a moment over 
the region of Sir Andrew’s heart. 

He rose, and looked at the staring eyes and startled faces 
about him. Without any trace of emotion he announced to 
them: 

* Judgment has overtaken him.’ 


CHAPTER XVIII 
RECONCILIATION 


HEN presently they came out into the hall, they 

found the members of the Privy Council assembled 
there in penitent and chastened mood, to wait upon the 
Governor. 

It was Ferguson, who yesterday had sworn to see Rutledge 
hanged, who now acted as their spokesman. 

‘Your excellency,’ he said, ‘on my own behalf and on that 
of my fellow-councillors, I humbly offer you an apology for 
having lacked towards you the faith which your every past 
action should abundantly have inspired. I am also to express 
our profound admiration of the sagacious plan by which you 
had looked to destroy the enemy forces, of your fortitude in 
keeping the matter secret in the face of our reprehensibly un- 
trusting opposition .. .’ 

Rutledge cut him short. ‘Is more of this necessary, sirs? 
The plan has failed, through — shall we say? — the malig- 
nancy of fortune. As for what happened yesterday, I am as 
ready to believe that you performed your duty according to 
your lights as I know that I was performing mine. If you will 
oblige me by waiting upon me at my house presently, I shall 
be glad of your counsel in matters now to be determined.’ 

Thus coldly dismissed, they made shift to depart, un- 
comfortably conscious of having merited his displeasure. 

Without paying further attention to them, Rutledge turned 
to Latimer who lingered at his side. 

‘Don’t stay now,’ he said. ‘Your wife is waiting.’ 

And Moultrie, at his elbow, curiously moved for such aman 
of war, a suspicion of moisture about his kindly eyes, urged 
him in the same manner. 


RECONCILIATION 413 


‘ Aye, aye, lad, go to her. Goto her. And ask her to forgive 
me. Maybe she'll understand when you tell her that it was 
love for you made me hate you so when — God forgive me for 
an old fool! — I thought you’d turned against us.’ 

Latimer smiled into the kindly, stricken eyes of his father’s 
friend, and turned again to Rutledge. 

‘IT can’t go without thanking you, sir.’ 

‘For sitting in judgment upon you?’ 

‘No sir. For acting as counsel for my defence.’ 

‘That,’ said Rutledge, ‘is the true function of any upright 
judge. Besides, there were two other reasons why I must 
exert myself to save you. In the first place, I was reminded, 
by the Council’s condemnation of myself only yesterday, that 
appearances may conspire to establish the guilt of an Innocent 
man; and I could not forget that at that meeting you were the 
only one who did not condemn me on those appearances. In 
the second place,’ he continued, with now a gleam of sardonic 
humour, ‘there is between us a certain matter which, unless I 
exerted myself to acquit you, might have left upon me a slur 
of doing cowardly service to my own interests. There was 
something said the other day of a challenge to follow when the 
affairs of the State should leave more leisure. That leisure I 
am now likely to be afforded...’ 

‘Sir, can you forgive me?’ exclaimed Latimer, in peni- 
tence. 

Rutledge laughed outright, and held out his hand. 

‘Perhaps we have never quite understood each other,’ he 
said. ‘But, all things considered, it is a remarkable fact, 
Latimer, that yesterday in Beekman’s tent you were the only 
one who did not call me a scoundrel.’ 

‘I have always understood you too well for that,’ said 
Latimer as he gripped the proffered hand. 

Then he plunged away down the hall to find his wife. 
Rutledge’s voice followed him: 

‘It is possible that we may yet be friends.’ 


414 THE CAROLINIAN 


But to that, Latimer did not trouble to reply. He went on 
and opened the door of the dining-room. 

She was sitting on the window-seat, and Tom Izard, large, 
benign, and protecting, was standing over her. Her face, 
white and tear-stained, but eager and half-afraid, was turned 
towards the door when he opened it. 

She sprang up, half-choked by fear, to be instantly re- 
assured, both by his expression and by Tom Izard’s cry: 

‘He is free! They have acquitted him.’ And he pointed 
to the sword that swung at Harry’s side. 

Two faltering, uncertain steps towards him she took, then 
swayed into his arms, and lay half-swooning in relief against 
his breast. 

‘You know now, Harry, my dear. You know now ...’ she 
said. 

Tom Izard, whose letters to his sister, Lady William Camp- 
bell, then in Jamaica, related this last episode, went out of the 
room at that point, closing the door upon a husband and wife 
who in reality had only just found each other. It was discreet 
of him, both as a man of feeling and a chronicler. 


THE END 

















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